Into Shadow She Rode
by Papillon007
Summary: 'Think you that Wormtongue had poison only for Théoden's ears?' said Gandalf. More than one person fell under the shadow. Eowyn&Eomer-centric, dark, book canon for the most part. Ch7: The big important chapter, not for the faint-hearted. Eowyn&Eomer figh
1. Dreams and Disgrace

Disclaimer: LotR and all its related characters do not belong to me and are used without permission. Book based. Spoilers potentially for RotK and TTT

"Into Shadow She Rode"

Chapter 1: Dreams and Disgrace

by Papillon

__

Lights streamed past, blurred, as if she were galloping on a horse faster than she'd ever dreamed possible, a horse intangible and incontrollable and swift as the strike of lightning. She caught snippets of sound as the rushing air moved past her…"The king's sister is dead."…A familiar voice that tugged at her memory…"What a pity…these children are so young."…then another voice, chiding and strained…"Hush, you will wake her." 

Gradually the moving colours resolved themselves, becoming the solid surroundings of her nursery. She blinked, shaking the sleep from her eyes, then sat bolt upright as she remembered what the voices had been saying. Mother…dead…_The owners of the voices, however, were nowhere to be seen_._ She was alone in the room and could hear none of the familiar sounds that usually greeted her upon waking. Silence pressed in, stifling her with its hinted threats. _

She jumped out of bed, still in her nightgown, and ran down the hallway, seeking for someone, anyone, to explain, to tell her that the voices were wrong…or even that they were right. She knew they were right, in her heart, with a child's intuition, but she needed to hear the words, horrible as they would be. She was too blinded by the tears that sprang unheeded to her eyes to see him before he grabbed her arm and stopped her frantic movements. 

"Éomer…" She could see in his eyes that he knew, too, and that he was afraid to tell her. She raised a clenched fist to dash the tears from her still sleep-clouded eyes. "It is no use, Éomer…"

He took a deep breath, acknowledging what they both knew, and pulled her into an embrace, enfolding her in comforting arms. She broke down, weeping into his shoulder even as she felt him trembling to maintain control in her presence. She felt so very lost and alone, so very young…I cannot bear it… _She pulled away from him then, a sudden, horrific thought occurring to her. _

"Éomer, where will we go? We are orphans now…" 

His eyes refocused on her and his grief was momentarily forgotten. "I do not know, my dear Éowyn, but I promise you this: that I shall always be by your side to protect you from ill or harm, until the day I die. As long as I live, I swear to watch over you always, by the great House that spawned us, or let me be stricken down where I stand."

  


A hand pounded on her heavy wooden door insistently, and Éowyn reluctantly brought herself awake. That was the third time in two weeks that she'd had that dream, and she wondered what its significance could be. The knocking sounded again, and she filed away the dream to be pondered later when she had the time. She wondered who would be seeking her at this early hour, for dawn was still nearly an hour away, as evidenced by the heavy blackness blanketing the world outside. She searched blindly for a torch, then thrust it into the glowing embers in the hearth to bring some light into the room. Finally, she opened her chamber door, only to find empty darkness. Puzzled, she looked down the hall, then jumped as she felt a tap on her shoulder from behind. 

She turned to see Éomer, grinning wickedly. She sighed. 

"I should have known it was you. But I am amazed to see you awake before noon, much less before dawn!" 

A smirk formed on his face, and she longed to wipe it off, but stayed still for the moment. 

"I cannot believe you have forgotten," he said teasingly, "you, of the ever-perfect memory."

She shifted impatiently. "If there is something you have to tell me, please do it now, because I have to start my chores soon." 

His tone changed to one of mocking. "Oh, yes, 'tis a pity that girls cannot ride patrols with the rest of us, and must stay home to scrub the floors and cook the meals." 

She did not rise to his deliberate bait, for it was one she had heard many times before and, though the hurt still rankled, she had long since given up trying to respond. Instead, she said sweetly, "Well, I know it must be great fun rounding up errant sheep for worried farmers. You are so brave and daring."

He frowned angrily. He was bothered by the fact that he was not yet allowed to participate in real battles, just as she hated that she was not allowed to fight at all, but he accepted the barb and let it pass. Éowyn was only fourteen, after all. He said tolerantly, "I will be given a chance to be brave someday, which is more than you can say. But let us stop the teasing. Today is the day when Théoden arrives home, remember?" 

She turned pale, "Oh, no…" 

He asked confusedly, "What ails you? You should be rejoicing that he will be back. We won't have to endure Théodred's pompous nonsense anymore. I know you hate it as much as I do. He treats us as if we were still the small children that we were when we first came to live here." His brows drew together in remembrance. 

"No, I will be glad indeed to see Théoden back," she said with a distracted look on her face, "But I fear for the welcoming feast. My best dress has mud stains and tears all over it. It is a disgrace, and I have nothing else suitable."

A smile tugged at the edges of Éomer's mouth. "I suppose it will not serve to ask how your dress came to be in such a state. Probably climbing trees again, or some such nonsense. You really are hopeless, you know. But Théoden will not truly be angry. He never is; we have all grown much too used to your antics."

" 'Tis not Théoden's disapproval that I fear, but that of the new counsellor." She laughed at Éomer's blank look. "It seems I am not the only one who has been forgetful! One of the reasons for this journey was to find a new counsellor to replace Britard, if you recall. And no matter who he has chosen, he will doubtless not approve of my attire." She sighed. "I suppose it is my own fault, and I must endure the consequences. It is just…Théoden wishes for a daughter, or even a sister-daughter, who is proper and will do as she is told and will make a good marriage and…I am not his desire. He laughs at my boyishness, but I see in his eyes that I do not please him, and I never shall." 

"Théodred has been speaking to you again, has he not?" Eomer asked. 

Eowyn looked away. "It is not just him…I know that Théoden feels that way as well. I know that everyone does. It is only Théodred who will put it into words and scold me when he finds me practicing with the swords in the armory. But you all wish for something else. Someone else."

Éomer stood silent for a moment, then reached out and grasped her shoulder with firm hands. "Éowyn…I know it shall never make a difference, but I love you no matter what you do, as does Théoden. You have been set a hard fate, and you must follow your own path."

"Do you understand?" he asked, shaking her a little for emphasis, since she would not meet his eyes. "Do not listen to Théodred's muttering. He is only angry because of the last time you beat him at archery," he said, grinning broadly.

She looked up, finally. "The look on his face! He was so shocked that a female, a girl of all things, could beat him," she said, smiling. "Thank you, Éomer."

"Silly fool," he said affectionately, ruffling her already bed-mussed hair. 

"I have been meaning to tell you of this dream-" she started, only to be interrupted by an impatient call from the end of the hallway. 

"Éowyn! Where is that girl?"

"Now you have made me late!" she cried, and ran off to search for her mantle, saying as she went, "Be off, Éomer! Make yourself useful for once."

Éomer laughed, but left, shutting the door with a heavy thud behind him.

  


Éowyn hurriedly dressed, twisting her hair into a rude knot, and dashed out the door, but stopped short as she nearly collided into Théodred. His mouth was drawn into a disapproving frown.

She sighed inwardly. Théodred was a good man, noble and courageous in battle, but, when given the responsibilities of a king in Théoden's absence, he became prideful and eager to make his will done. He also became very angry when ignored. But Éowyn feared the wrath of Éyartha, the head of the kitchen and all domestic affairs, more, and so she dodged Théodred, calling over her shoulder, "My thousand apologies, my lord, but I must see you another time." She knew her behavior would mean reprisals later, but she kept running, finally arriving at the main cooking hall.

  


Éyartha wasted no time on scolding, but immediately set her to work kneading bread.

Éowyn was, indeed, almost a princess, yet Théoden still required her to do the chores that would be required of any other girl her age in Rohan. Éomer jested that it was to make her into a suitable wife, but Éowyn rather suspected it was to teach her humility. Éyartha never treated her any differently than she did the other servants, and anyone who did soon learned to forget their respect. Théodred was bothered by this lack of honor, but it was not in his power even when Théoden was gone to change it. 

She thought of her dream and wondered at its power. She knew from past experience that it would continue to haunt her for the next few days and, once its echo had faded, she would dream it once more soon after. She did not place much importance on portents and omens, yet she could not help herself…_If I am meant to know something, I wish it would be given more clearly! What am I to do with a silly childhood memory?_

  


The day passed quickly, baking and mopping floors and setting the table in the high feasting hall, and soon it was almost nightfall. Éowyn returned to her room and scrubbed her best gown, but the mud stains still remained. She put in on nonetheless, for she had nothing else. She paused, tying the bodice, and looked down out of her window. The high stairs leading up to Meduseld were lit up with many candles, which glimmered in the dusk, and she saw the waning moon begin to gain brilliance as the sun set. She looked beyond the city and saw the White Mountains shining faintly and, to the north, forest far in the distance. She heard a knocking upon her door and, before she could answer it, Éomer opened it hurriedly and burst inside.

"Éowyn, you are late!" he cried. "Théoden and the new counsellor have already arrived, and we are gathering in the Hall! Hurry, ere you are further disgraced!"

She quickly finished lacing her bodice and rushed out of the door behind Éomer, her undone long yellow hair streaming behind her. "Ay!" she said to herself as she went hurriedly downstairs, "It seems all I do today goes ill!"

All those invited had already arrived when they reached the Great Hall of Meduseld, and those on the dais, seated around the king, looked up as they walked in. To the left of Théoden sat a pale man with a cunning face and heavy-lidded eyes, and on his right sat Théodred. The pale man looked at Éowyn and she beheld in his eyes some unnamed menace, and shivered as though chilled. But she was aware that he had seen her reflexive shudder, and so she squared her shoulders and walked tall beside her brother as they strode up to the dais, unashamed of her mud-stained dress and tousled hair. _I am a daughter of the House of Eorl, and no foreigner shall fail to give me respect!_ Éomer also had seen something in the stranger's face which troubled him, and he also held himself proudly. As they moved to take their places at the side of Théodred, Éowyn was gratified to see that the stranger's face had lost its look of contemptuous superiority. 

Théoden stood, addressing all of those gathered in the Golden Hall. "I have gathered you here tonight to announce a triumph for Edoras, and all of Rohan. Britard, my counsellor for many years, has asked for leave to wed and I have granted his request. But this sad parting has led to a new and greater age for us all. I have searched long and far for a new counsellor, both wise and worthy of this position, and I have found all that I desired. I present to you Gríma son of Gálmód, my new counsellor and a man who is wise in all things!"

So saying, he beckoned for Gríma to stand beside him, which he did, bowing. "I am honored to be able to serve your people, my lord Théoden. I shall do all in my power to offer cautious wisdom which will benefit all the people of Rohan," he said, his eyes roaming the room and finally coming to rest on Éowyn as he resumed his seat. She met his gaze proudly; clear grey eyes meeting hooded dark ones. She tried to read what she had seen in his eyes when she first entered the room, but they were veiled once more and closed to her. They remained locked thusly for long moments, and she looked away only when Éomer elbowed her. Stifling a grimace, she looked over at him impatiently. 

"What ails you?" she hissed. 

"Théoden wishes for the wine to be served!" he whispered back. "Go and do your duty as the lady of this house!"

_Lady? I am no Lady yet! _she thought, but she stood and began pouring wine to Théoden. Custom dictated that she must also serve all of the king's honored guests, and so she reluctantly bent low to fill Gríma's cup. Swift as lightning his hand shot out to grasp her wrist, and she barely stifled a cry of dismay. She tried to shake his fingers, but they clutched as if embedded into her skin. She looked about, avoiding meeting his gaze, but all eyes were turned to the king and did not notice her, captured at his side. She dared not cry out for fear of humiliating the king.

Gríma tugged upon her arm, forcing her to turn her eyes back to him. Her eyebrows drew together murderously and hot words were on her tongue, but then he abruptly released her hand and sat back in his seat. He smiled indulgently, as her Nurse used to do when she was much younger and said something foolish.

"My apologies, my lady. I meant no offense," he said, "I merely wished to see you more closely, as it is said that you will one day be one of the most famed beauties in all the land. Indeed the rumors are not false." 

Éowyn composed her face and said coolly, "You flatter me, my lord counsellor." Then she turned on her heels and returned to her seat. 

As soon as she had seated herself, Éomer leaned over and asked, "Why did you linger so long before the counsellor?"

"Meet me tonight and I shall tell you," she whispered back, fearful that someone might hear. The rest of the night passed slowly, with Éowyn being forced to sit on the dais and watch as the other guests danced, as befitted a nearly-princess not yet come of age. She did not dare look over at Gríma, yet an uncomfortable feeling of thorns pricking her danced up and down her spine all evening and she felt the weight of his eyes upon her, tracing her every move. 

  


The two children of Éomund had, since they were little, had always been accustomed to meet in times of trouble at the back of the terrace which surrounded Meduseld, where few guards disturbed them and they could talk in peace. There they met when all the feasting was done and the guests had departed and all others had gone to rest, save a few guards at the top of the stairs, who knew them and did not trouble them. The shadow of the mountains stretched over them and the torches burned low as they sat close together on a small bench, wrapped in cloaks to ward off the deepening chill of night. 

"There is an ill-favored look about him which I like not," Éomer declared. "He looked at you as though…I cannot say, but it unsettled me."

Éowyn brushed a loose lock of hair out of her face and said, "I know what you speak of…his eyes felt like hot coals upon me."

"So what shall we do?" Éomer asked. "We cannot allow this sort of treatment! You are the King's sister-daughter and should be treated with the utmost respect, not insulted thusly."

"What shall we do?" Éowyn responded, frowning. "What can we do? There is naught we could say, save, 'He looked at me in a way that did not please me.' Do you think that would please Théoden, to be disgraced by two overly suspicious kinfolk?" 

"We are not overly suspicious!" Éomer cried. "He spells ill for the both of us, and for all the kingdom of Rohan, mark my words!" 

Éowyn laid a comforting hand on his arm. "I know, Éomer. But do not let us be rash. We must bide our time. Perhaps we merely imagined something in his look. I do not doubt that he is very wise and will serve Rohan well, else Théoden would not have chosen him."

Éomer sighed. "I like it not, but I will do as you say. Now, dear sister," he said, his tone changing to one of teasing, "it is far too late for such a delicate young lady to be awake. I shall see you in the morrow."

Éowyn stood up angrily. "Oh, you are impossible!" she cried, but bade him farewell and went to bed. 

  
  


A/N: A tad sappy perhaps, but it was a setting up chapter, what do you expect? This story will get very dark, I expect, though it will still have a happy ending, I rather imagine, as it mostly follows the book. With one important exception, which is yet to be revealed! This is my first posted story (oh, I'm so nervous!) , so reviews and constructive criticism are very much appreciated. Very much indeed. And, oh, argh, Tolkien's writing style is so HARD! I can't write in it, because it's so unnatural, and I can't write in my own, because it doesn't fit in Tolkien's universe, so I'm stuck somewhere in between and I'm not sure it's working out. Look for the next chapter within a week, I think. 


	2. The Cages That Surround

Disclaimer: LotR and all its related characters do not belong to me and are used without permission. Book based. Spoilers potentially for RotK and TTT

Into Shadow She Rode

Chapter 2: The Cages That Surround

by Papillon

"Happy sixteenth birthday, Éowyn!" Éomer cried as he pulled the blindfold from her eyes. Éowyn gasped in delighted surprise as she beheld a beautiful grey mare, with flowing hair and proud bright eyes. 

"Oh, Éomer, she is wonderful!" Éowyn said as she ran to the mare's side and held out her hand to be sniffed at and inspected by the horse. "What is her name?" she asked. 

Éomer smiled broadly as he responded, "Windfola is what the man I bought her from called her, though you can change it if you wish."

"Nay, Windfola suits her perfectly," she said as she stroked the horse's mane. She turned and hugged Éomer, surprising him. 

"Will you come riding with me tomorrow?" she asked, pulling away. 

"I cannot," he said regretfully. "Théoden has organized a hunting party. But I shall come with you the day after morrow, if it pleases you."

"That would please me very much indeed," she said. 

  


Éowyn sat on a chair beside the window in her room and looked out upon the evening of her sixteenth birthday, and was reminded of a similar occasion nearly two years ago, when she had been preparing for a feast in the High Hall to celebrate the new counsellor, Gríma. But the feast was in her honor this eve, and she would not be late or disgraced by a muddy dress. She thought of her younger self and was ashamed at the foolish child she had been. Her misgivings about Gríma had been forgotten and dismissed; he had been a wise and just counsellor thus far, and she knew that she had been childish and irrational to be bothered by an ill look in his eyes. _Though_, she thought, _the dream did stop after his arrival…but dreams are often without meaning. _

The burning sun was swallowed up in the west as she watched and thought, and so she stood and went down to the great Hall, where her brother and King Théoden were waiting. 

  


Théoden held up his cup of mead, calling out, "A toast! Let us drink to my sister-daughter Éowyn, for she is fair and noble and I am proud to call her my own!"

Éowyn, her cheeks colouring pink, stood and curtseyed. Théoden watched her thoughtfully as she reclaimed her seat. _She grows more and more like her mother each day, _he thought_. _He turned to his counsellor and said, "She is truly beautiful, is she not?"

Gríma nodded, saying, "Her countenance grows more lovely each day, my lord. Have you given thought to whom she shall marry?"

"I have not," the king said, "for I am loath to part with her. Her laugh brightens this hall indeed and I would miss her sorely if we were parted."

"I think that is a wise decision, my lord," Gríma said. "She is still very young and innocent, unsuited for marriage."

Théoden smiled. "I imagine she thinks herself unsuited yet for marriage as well. She is still somewhat wild and high-hearted. She wishes not to be tied down to anything, much less a husband. I deem that the only man she favors at all is her brother. They are very close, you know. I remember, when their parents died, they refused to be taken into my house unless the promise was given that they would not be separated. Indeed, she would even ride with him on his raids and hunts if permitted, I think."

"Yet she has become quite a lady," Gríma said. "All who see her are entranced by her grace and skill."

Together, they looked down from the dais to the hall, where the tables had been cleared and the guests were dancing. Éowyn was being twirled about by a pale young man named Faldor and was laughing as her hair spun like golden flax behind her. The king smiled to see her, but an odd look, almost of loneliness, came into Gríma's eyes.

Standing, the king said to Grí ma, "Come, I shall dance among my people. This is an occasion for much joy and we should both celebrate." He stepped down from the dais and took the hand of his late wife, Elfhild's sister. Gríma followed, his eyes now veiled as always, and walked over to where Éowyn was standing alone, having just finished a dance.

"My Lady Éowyn, may I have the pleasure of dancing with you?" he asked.

Éowyn smiled. Once she would have been afraid and suspicious, and a buried instinct made her search his eyes, but she found nothing but wisdom and kindness, and so she said, "You may indeed, Gríma son of Gálmód."

She accepted his proffered hand, and they stepped out amidst the other dancers. She stood just above him, so that he had to look up as he said, "The king and I were just speaking of your beauty."

"Oh, 'tis not true!" she said. " I wish that people would look beyond it, in any case. I am not a pretty bauble to be put on a shelf. I desire to go out and have great adventures and win renown and valor, not to stay in and forever wait for the men to return."

"But you are a woman, a great Lady of Rohan. Your place is in the home," he said.

"I wish I had been born a male," she said wistfully. "But the Ladies of Rohan may still defend their people, when called upon to do so. There have been great shield maidens in the past. I would be one of them. I would fight beside my brother."

"Nay," Gríma said, "it would be a loss too grievous to imagine if you were killed, my Lady."

Éowyn shook her head, a slight edge coming into her voice. "I fear you do not know me very well, my Lord Gríma, for I am a strong hand at the sword and you need not fear death for me on the battlefield. I am well able to protect myself."

"Perhaps that may be so," he said, "but death may come to even the best swordsman unexpected. There are many perilous things afoot in this world, and it would be wise for one so important as yourself to stay at home, safe from unknown dangers."

Éowyn's eyes narrowed. _For just a moment, I thought I heard in his voice…an unnamed threat…Nay, 'twas naught but my overactive imagination._

"My Lady?" Gríma asked. "Is aught amiss, my Lady Éowyn? The dance is ending, and there are many other partners who desire an audience with you."

Éowyn brought herself out of her thoughts and looked back at him. "Thank you for dancing with me, my Lord counsellor. It was a pleasure." She murmured the courteous words without noticing them, and, as he took her leave and walked off, her eyes followed him almost against her will. She stood still watching him until, just before he reached the dais, he turned and looked back at her, as if feeling her gaze upon him, and she hastily turned and asked the nearest young man standing near her, Faldor, to dance. After the dance was over, she made sure to find another partner quickly, for she did not wish to dance with Gríma again. Though she enjoyed herself, her earlier gaiety was somehow lost and she had to keep her eyes from straying back to the dais where Gríma sat, ever watchful. She spent the rest of the night thusly, until she departed early for bed, holding to the custom that the guest of honor at a birthday feast must always leave first to have good fortune for the year ahead. _And if my instincts do not deceive me,_ she thought as she left, _I shall need good fortune indeed._

  


As the guests took their leave of King Théoden, Éomer slipped into the shadows at the foot of the stairs and watched them depart. As Faldor passed, he grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the darkness. Faldor looked around uneasily, as Éomer was tall and strong and rumored to be quick to anger and Faldor was mild-mannered and somewhat small and thin, but those who passed by paid no heed. 

Faldor cleared his throat nervously. "Yes, my Lord Éomer? What do you desire of me?"

"It is not what I desire of you, but what you yourself desire," Éomer said, brows drawn together ominously.

"My Lord," Faldor said timidly, "I know not of what you speak."

"You know very well what I am speaking of," Éomer said. "My sister Éowyn." Faldor's eyes widened at this, as if his secret thoughts had been revealed. Though he then tried to recover his composure, Éomer's keen eyes did not miss the gesture. 

"I know you have long desired her," he said, his voice lowering dangerously, "but she is not yours to have. She is no one's to have, but least of all yours. Let her be in peace and disturb not our hall with your presence!"

Faldor shrank away from Éomer's sudden wrath, and made as if to turn and flee, but suddenly turned and with unexpected fury, cried, "And who are you to say who she may love or not?" Then, realizing what he had done, he spun on his heels and ran into the distance. 

After Éomer had watched his figure dwindle out of sight, he sighed and said almost to himself, "I am her brother. And she will never love you."

Turning and going back into the house, he was surprised to see Éowyn standing a few steps from the bottom, gazing at him. 

"Éowyn!" he said. "Why are you not at rest?"

She stepped down until they stood level and she looked him in the eye. "I saw you speaking to that young man from my window. What did you say to him to make him depart in such a hasty manner?"

Éomer shrugged. " Faldor? 'Twas naught of importance. Nothing for you to concern yourself over, my dear sister."

Éowyn peered into his face with piercing eyes and Éomer was struck by how tall she had become, and how strong in will. 

"You have rarely lied to me with success, Éomer," she said. "Do not try to do so now."

"It was nothing," he insisted, but seeing her threatening look, he relented, saying, "He is very entranced by you, and I told him that you did not return his love and that he would be better off seeking marriage elsewhere. That is all."

Éowyn held his gaze a moment longer, then stepped back. "Perhaps that is all you said, but I do not doubt you said it intending to frighten. You are more intimidating than you have a right to be sometimes."

She sighed. "Éomer, when will you stop watching over me as if I were a new-born foal on shaky legs? I can defend myself, and if his attentions had been so unwelcome as you seem to think they were, I could have easily discouraged them without your help."

"But," cried Éomer, "you certainly did not love him! You hardly know his name!"

"That is true," she said, turning away to gaze off into the moonlight, "but he should have the right to dream impossible dreams if he wishes."

Éomer frowned. "Not if these dreams are directed towards you."

She turned back to him and cried, "Éomer! I am sixteen years of age! I am able to make my own decisions! So please leave your meddling alone!"

Angrily, she began walking up the steps to Meduseld, but at the top she heard his voice from below and halted.

"Éowyn," he said. "Forgive me. I am sorry if I have angered you. I only wish to protect you, as I swore to do so long ago. I have not forgotten the vow I gave and I will uphold it to the end of my days. Please understand how much I love you. I could not bear to lose you."

Without moving, she said, so that he had to strain to hear: "If you love me so, my dear brother, do not stifle me. Do not keep me in a cage for the rest of my life. I will go mad if you do, mark me now! I will go mad!"

So saying, she entered the now-dark Hall and was lost to his eyes.

  
  


A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I really appreciate it a lot. I like this chapter much, much better than the first one, and the next chapter is much better too. Tell me if you liked it better! I think it just took me a little while to hit my stride, or whatever. A note about the surprise: No, it doesn't involve Aragorn for the most part, unfortunately, because it's going to have the same ending as the books, though it'll take some detours getting there. And it's dark. And some people aren't going to like it! I would say more, but I've really got to rush, so until then, review and enjoy!


	3. Knots Unraveling

Disclaimer: LotR and all its related characters do not belong to me and are used without permission. Book based. Spoilers potentially for RotK and TTT

Into Shadow She Rode

Chapter 3: Knots Unraveling 

by Papillon

Éowyn woke early the next morn to see her brother and the king off on their hunt. It was a gloriously clear autumn day, and the wide blue sky, with the sun newly risen tinting the East a rosy pink, seemed to form a great bowl that encompassed all the land. Birds sung their sweet melodies as Théoden and his party mounted their horses and rode off down the hills. Éowyn watched them leave, deep in thought, then turned and went into the hall. 

  


After they had been riding for some time, Éomer pulled his mount up beside Théodred's, near the head of the hunting party, and commented, " 'Tis a beautiful day, is it not?"

Théodred glanced over at him and nodded. "Ay, and I deem that the hunting will be plentiful. There have been many reports of elk on the edge of the Westemnet."

They rode along in silence for a few moments, falling back into the throng of riders. Éomer looked forward at where the King was riding, with Gríma beside him, and said, "What do you think of Gríma son of Gálmó d? Think you that he is wise?"

"I do indeed," Théodred said. "though I am less sure of his prowess in battle. But he has not yet had a chance to prove himself."

_Neither have I_, Éomer thought. "Tell me, Théodred," he asked, "why does Théoden not allow me to fight in true battles? Others ride on raids and defend our borders, but he reigns me in and sends me not to battle."

Théodred frowned. "You are only twenty years of age, Éomer, and still quick-tempered. Wait a few more years and your time will come."

"But I have proven myself!" Éomer cried. "I have shown myself to be brave and strong!"

Théodred's response was interrupted by a horn from the front of the company, signaling that prey had been sighted. 

"It is a great boar!" someone called from the front. Théodred and Éomer readied their spears and rode closer to the fore, where they beheld a furious grey boar, charging one of the king's men. He narrowly ducked out of harm's way, and Théodred took advantage of its momentary disorientation to aim a spear at it. The spear grazed the boar's side, drawing a thin red line of blood down its flank. The boar let loose an angry roar as a circle of riders began to close in about him. He spied a gap in the circle, near Eyoforth, a young rider, and charged. Eyoforth's horse shied back, nearly unseating him, and the boar was freed from the circle. It turned away from the stallion's thundering hooves and the riders' eager spears and ran straight at Éomer, who had fallen back from the rest. _Here is a chance to show my worth!_ Éomer thought, and bent in for the kill. 

Just then he heard a cry. "Orcs! Beware of the orcs!" He turned momentarily away from the boar and saw a multitude of orcs swarming down the hill, making directly for the men. One threw itself at Fama, a guard of the king, and he saw a jagged knife land in his chest, ripping through flesh and tissue. He would have spurred his horse on to their defense, if the boar had not then leapt up at him, desperate with rage and bloodlust. One of its great tusks drove itself into his side and he bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain. He did not have a chance to examine the wound, for at that moment his horse reared and threw him to the ground. 

As he fell, he thrust his spear into the boar, which squealed in furious agony and drew back. The wind was knocked out of him as he hit the ground, and his sight was momentarily covered in blackness. He could hear the boar pant and scratch the ground. _As if to ready himself for an attack! _he thought, and grappled frantically at his waist for a weapon, his lungs struggling to take in air and vision just beginning to return in spots of colour. His fingers closed around a hilt and he pulled the knife quickly out of its scabbard, jabbing it blindly up and out. 

It pierced soft flesh, driving in deep, and Éomer felt muscle and tissue shudder around the knife. He pulled the knife out and struggled to one elbow, his sight now mostly restored, and saw that the boar had fallen back upon the grass. Its eyelids fluttered and then it was still. Éomer sighed in relief and let himself down exhaustedly, tossing the bloody knife off into the high grass. His eyes closed and he lay stretched out motionless in the dirt, oblivious to all that was around him. 

A cry from the other men brought him back to the battle. "To the king, to the king!" they called, and Éomer opened his eyes and lifted himself painfully up to see the captain of the orcs running towards for his uncle, who sat on his horse alone. He heard the orc-captain yell orders in its foul black tongue, and other orcs began to converge on Théoden. Éomer fought to get up and run to the king's aid, but the wound in his side was bleeding profusely, and as he staggered to his feet he saw that he was already too late, for, as Théoden grappled with the captain, another orc at his back was stringing a bow with a deadly arrow, aiming directly at him. 

"Théoden!" Éomer cried out desperately. "At your back, Théoden!"

Just as the orc made ready to loose his arrow, a rider came charging seemingly out of nowhere, and knocked the orc archer down, trampling him under his horse. The arrow was flung harmlessly into the air. Broken from their horrified spell, the riders swept down upon the orcs with renewed fury, slashing and destroying. Théodred rode in and, with one swift stroke of his sword, sliced the head off of the orc captain. Leaderless, the orcs were easily killed or frightened back into the hills, and the battle was soon over. 

  


Éomer staggered over to where his uncle was standing, directing the care of the wounded and blessing the dead. He wearily embraced the king, saying, "It was a stroke of fortune indeed that saved you from that fell arrow. I am greatly glad to see you alive and whole, for at that moment your death seemed certain."

Théoden let him go and held him at arm's length and said, "But what is this? You are injured, my sister-son, and it looks to be very grave. We must tend to it immediately."

Éomer shook his head. "'Tis nothing. I hardly feel it," he lied. "But I must know, who was the rider who rode so valiantly to your defense? He must be rewarded and celebrated in great honour in our hall."

A voice said from behind him, "It was I who saved your uncle, Lord Éomer," and Éomer turned to see Gríma, his sword and spear stained dark with orc blood. 

Éomer, struggling to hide his surprise, said quickly, "It was a brave deed for certain, to ride in amongst the mass of those black orcs alone. We are all very grateful to you."

Gríma pushed some of his lank dark hair out of his face and said, "It is what any would have done, I am sure, if they had been able. I never hesitated for a moment, for my love for the king, my liege lord, is ever present in my mind."

Éomer nodded, unsure of what to say that would not reveal his suspicion and dislike of the counsellor, both of which had only grown since the first day of their meeting. 

Gríma looked over to where the dead boar lay and smiled, condescendingly Éomer thought. "You have also won renown this day, have you not, young Éomer? I believe it is the first time you have brought down something so large in a hunt. Congratulations." 

_His forked tongue hints at insults too subtly to rebuke, _thought Éomer angrily. _May he die an ignoble death!_ He excused himself and went off to help prepare the boar's carcass and get his wound dressed, in order to get away from Gríma's veiled insults. 

After all the work had been done, Théoden mounted his horse, Snowmane, once more and rode to the head of the gathering riders. He called for their attention, then cried loudly, "Men of my household, dear friends, hear me now! Today I would have been lost to you, but for the strength and courage of my counsellor. He was appointed to serve me with his wisdom, but I deem that he will also serve me with his sword and spear. I am forever grateful and in his debt for the service he has rendered me, and so I name him a friend and ally of my household for ever. Whoever speaks ill of him will be committing treason against me!"

All the riders present bowed their heads in recognition of the honour, but Éomer, looking up from under lowered eyes, saw that Gríma did not bow in humility, but rather, smiled, as if in triumph. 

  


Night had fallen on the land by the time the riders returned to Edoras, yet Éomer, as they rode up the winding path to Meduseld, beheld Éowyn still standing at the top of the steps, looking out and watching for their return. People came out of their houses to see how the hunt had gone, and the heralds spread the word of Gríma's brave deed to all. Éomer stirred uneasily as they passed the curious people by, for the wound in his side was beginning to steadily ache, with a slow, throbbing pain that spread throughout his whole body. But his pride would not let him speak out and be further shamed by Gríma. So he bit his tongue and dismounted with the rest of the riders when the stable boys came to collect their horses. 

Éowyn was waiting for them at the threshold of the hall, and would not let them pass. 

"Uncle Théoden!" she cried. "They are saying that you are wounded and nearly died! Is this true?"

Théoden laughed. "Dear Éowyn, do not worry. Those are but anxious rumors. I am fine and well, though it is true that I barely escaped the brush of death's roving hand. I would, perhaps, come before you cloaked in funeral pall, were it not for my brave counsellor."

"Speak not dark words," she said, then, catching his full meaning, she turned to Gríma and asked, "Your brave counsellor? How has he saved you?"

Gríma caught her implied sleight, and the corners of his lips turned up in a humorless smile. "My lady, I assure you, it was merely luck that I happened to come to your uncle's aid. An orc aimed an arrow at him, which I was just able to deflect in time. But anyone would have done the same."

Éowyn was better able to hide her feelings than Éomer, but still, she was stricken for a moment speechless, suppressed doubts swirling in her mind. She recovered immediately, and said politely, "Ay, but you were the one who did. For that all of us are in your debt." She cleared her throat. "Théoden, I must beg your pardon and go to my rest. It is late, and we have waited long hours for your return. I am glad to see you safe from harm and I hope to talk more of the hunt in the morning. Farewell." As she turned to leave, she looked directly at Éomer and tilted her head ever so slightly as if to ask a question. 

Éomer was unsure of her meaning, but said, "I am afraid I also must ask for your leave and be excused, my king. My wound pains me and it needs rest." Without waiting for Théoden's response, he strode away to catch up with Éowyn, who was already halfway down the hall. 

"What games are you playing?" Éomer muttered as he drew up beside her, nearly limping from pain.

Éowyn did not look at him, but slowed to a more normal pace. "None. I merely could not stand to be in that man's presence anymore."

Éomer raised an eyebrow and asked, "That man? Why do you speak of him in such a manner? Only yesterday you danced with him gaily. And you have said that my fears of him were silly and ungrounded, and that you had forgotten yours utterly. So why now does he strike you so ill?"

Éowyn stopped and looked back to see if Théoden and Gríma were still standing by the entrance. They were not, but she still lowered her voice to a whisper and stepped into a hollow in the wall where the torch had burned down to ashes. "I cannot say why, but I fear we are in great danger."

Éomer followed her, and they stood in the shadows close together. "What cause have you to say that?"

"What cause?" she asked, her voice frustrated. "Why do you ask so many questions? Do you not also feel the threat behind those lidded eyes? I am no fool, Éomer. I have listened carefully and eagerly to every man who talked of battle, and strife, and threats to our country since I was very small, hoping to learn enough to be a great warrior. There are no orcs near the edge of the Westemnet this time of year. They do not come so close to us except in the winter, when they are hungry and desperate. You know this as well as I."

Éomer sighed. "Ay, I do. I am sorry for questioning you. But I had to be certain before telling you of my doubts and dark thoughts. If you have come to realize what he is, then you also must know that he is very dangerous and far more powerful than we suspected. If even a hunting party, filled with armed and brave riders, is not safe, where then will he next choose to strike?"

"So you also believe that he drew the orcs upon you?" asked Éowyn. He nodded, and she frowned. "But why does he mean to kill Théoden? Does he think that he alone can topple all of his line, and kill you and I as well? He can never ascend that throne. Surely he must know it is futile to try."

"Perhaps it is futile," said Éomer. "And perhaps not. He nearly succeeded today, do not forget. He must be stopped. But there are many things yet hidden from me. How did he buy the orcs, seek them out, and offer them certain death?"

"He has some hidden ally," she said. "one we have no knowledge of. One that also seeks the throne of Rohan, maybe. Éomer, he is cunning beyond our wisdom. He nearly fooled me, and he has fooled the rest of Rohan."

"What then gave him away to you?" asked Éomer curiously.

"I do not quite know," she replied. "The look in his eyes, the look that is always in his eyes when he thinks no one is watching. He thinks he is the only one whose gaze can penetrate beyond a person's defenses. But I had always thought he was merely a strange man, or had some sorrow buried in his past. I suppressed my doubts and intuitions, but they were never lost to me. I had a dream last night, Éomer, that portended of some great terror befalling not only Rohan, but all the free lands. A great smoke and cloud, twisted and foul, swept down upon us, but our eyes were blind and did not see, and we were enveloped in it and lost, and in it I saw Gríma's eyes, laughing.

"It was a warning. I am certain of it now. When I saw him riding up beside Théoden, there was a smile on his face of victory that he did not trouble to conceal."

"But why? Why did he stop the orc from killing Théoden?" asked Éomer. "Why did he summon the orcs, if not to kill him? Is not his goal to gain the throne? He cannot do that unless all those who hold it are dead. What was his intent?"

Éowyn opened her mouth to respond, but a voice from behind them answered him instead. 

"To gain Théoden's love, trust, and devotion. And he has succeeded."

The siblings turned in surprise to see Théodred standing, his face shadowed and hidden by flickering torch light. 

"Théodred?" said Éomer, his voice uncertain. "Théodred, please do not heed whatever you have heard. It was but childish mutterings. Do not tell the king, I beg you."

Théodred laid his hand on Éomer's arm. "Do not fear, my cousin. Had I heard this conversation but a day earlier, I would have been filled with wrath at your insults, but…I do not hold you accountable for treason. Say rather that I wish to join you in this treason."

"Speak plainly," Éowyn said. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean," he answered, his voice growing heated with anger, "that I also believe Gríma to be a traitorous worm who saved my father today only to further his own gain, and indeed was the one who put his life in jeopardy in the first place. He has poisoned my father's mind with his words, and he had poisoned mine until today. He thinks he has made a great step forward, but he has made a grave mistake. The veil is torn from my sight, and I can see him for what he is, a betrayer to our kingdom, an insect who deserves to be crushed in the mud. Wormtongue I christen him. Wormtongue!" This last he said in a louder tone, and Éowyn hushed him reprovingly, earning herself an angry look.

"Then you also should know we must be careful," she said. "If his goal was as you say, then he has achieved it. He stands as a puppeteer behind the throne. I do not know what Théoden would say if he were to hear us now, whether he would choose his counsellor over his own flesh and blood, or not, but we should not take that risk, at least not yet. We must bide our time. We must not let Gríma know he has betrayed his true nature to us."

"Why?" cried Éomer. "Let us flush him out and reveal him to Théoden and all of Rohan! Let us be rid of him before he does further harm."

"Éomer speaks well and true," said Théodred. "Why should my father deny his only son? I will seek an audience with him tomorrow and tell him all that has come to pass. He will know what to do to rid our kingdom of this Wormtongue." With that, he turned on his heels and strode down the hall, without bidding farewell to either of them. 

Had she been but a few years younger, Éowyn would have stuck her tongue out at his receding figure, but she restrained herself. Instead, she said softly, "He will forever treat us as lower than himself, will he not, Éomer?"

"Perhaps," he said, "but he is brave and bold. Bold enough to do what I will not."

She frowned. "Éomer, it is an ill plan to reveal our thoughts to the king. Gríma's webs are woven deeper than we know. It troubles my heart to think of it, and I wish he would not go. But I cannot stop him, to whatever end it may lead."

"I do not agree, dear Éowyn," Éomer said, "though I do think that you most of all should take care. Do you not remember when he first laid eyes on you? We both sensed some unnamed malice then, and it is still present today. Stay away from him."

Her eyes narrowed. _I tire of being treated like a delicate glass bird! _she thought angrily, and, moving swifter than his eyes could follow, she whirled around, grabbing his hands as she went, and pinned him face first to the wall, his hands captured in hers behind his back. They stood there in silence for a few minutes, both breathing heavily. 

She could feel the muscles of his shoulders taut against her, though he made no attempt to push her off. Her hair had fallen in her face and brushed in her eyes and her nostrils, making her long to reach up and tuck it behind her ears, but she was not ready to let him go just yet. She wondered why he felt so tense and yet stayed so still.

Finally, she gave a rueful laugh and released him. 

"I fear that your efforts to convince me that I am weak and fragile have been in vain, Éomer," she said. 

He said nothing as he turned to face her, but merely stood, studying her. She said uncertainly, "Are you angry, Éomer? It was a jest, nothing more. I simply could not bear to be treated as a helpless maiden by you again. Éomer?"

A few awkward moments passed, and then he broke into a hesitant smile. "I am not angry, Éowyn, but merely admiring of your skill. I suppose I shall nevertheless ever be called to protect you as your older brother, so please forgive me." Abruptly, he stepped forward and enveloped her in his strong arms. She returned the hug and smiled into his shoulder. _I am blessed indeed to be given such a brother_. She pulled back, and he winced slightly, catching himself quickly lest she notice. But her keen eyes caught the gesture, and she said apprehensively, "Éomer, what is the matter? Be you hurt? Why did you not tell me before?"

He looked away, reluctant to burden her with worry, but eventually yielded, saying, "It is but a small wound, from the boar I slew earlier."

"I must tend to it," she said, and, ignoring his protests, sat him down on a nearby bench and began to unfasten his armor and unlace his jerkin. She could not prevent a small gasp from escaping her lips when she saw the bandage; the wound had bled through and left an angry dark red stain. "Éomer, this is a grave wound!" she cried. 

He was prevented from answering with more than a strained low hiss of pain, for she then began to undo the bandage from around his waist. He was proud when she did not blanche or look away upon seeing the open gash, for many women fainted at the sight of blood. She inspected the wound impersonally and went to fetch clean wrappings and a bucket of clean water, and, sitting on the bench, bent over him and began to gently sponge the wound clean. Neither of them spoke, him deep in his thoughts and his pain, and her too focused on her present task. The only noises were her soft sounds of frustration as she pushed her hair out of her face and his barely heard swift intakes of breath. She patted him dry, then wound the wrappings tightly and secured them with a deft knot. She stood then, and waited in silence for him to finish dressing, looking into the flames of the torch opposite them. 

The hour was late, and they were both very weary. Yet she wondered at his reluctance to talk. Hers was due to fear. _Éomer…you heed your own concerns far too little!_ she thought distractedly, wondering what cause he had for silence. 

Finally, she broke the uncomfortable quiet. "Éomer, I sway on my feet. I need to go to rest, and you need sleep to heal as well. So let us depart."

He nodded, though he seemed distracted and hardly listening. "Ay, you speak truly. Goodnight, my dear sister." He turned and went down the hall towards his chambers, and she departed to hers, after cleaning up the discarded bandages and bucket. There she fell into a restless sleep, troubled by many things.

  
  


A/N: Sorry this chapter took a while to get up! I'd written most of it earlier, but then I went out of town, and when I came back, I took another look and had to change some things and add some stuff in. Oy vey, action scenes are rather difficult to write. I'd never tried doing them before, and they're not too fun. They're deceptively easy, but then, once you look back, you think, "Wow, this is incredibly dry and dull." This chapter is also longer than the previous two; not intentionally, I just kept finding things that had to be put in before it could be wrapped up. So that's part of the reason why it took longer. 

Tension grows! And Théodred is rather rude, don't you think? Did anyone else think he was, erm, attractive in the movie? Sure, I know they hardly show a single shot of him directly, but if you look really closely…better than Figwit, I think. Though I couldn't really get a clear look at him, so maybe I'm completely wrong there. And, of course, he looks way too young, since he's around forty years old at that time. Oh, the things you learn from appendices!

I changed my summary, did anyone notice? I was poking around for references and came across that quote, and remembered that it was one of the things that inspired the plot bunny for this story a long time ago, so I decided to put it in there for fun. Oh, and I fixed the formatting on our favorite counsellor's name, which was screwing up rudely, and added in some spacing which, unnoticed, had gotten deleted somehow. 

Thanks to absolutely everyone who reviewed! I didn't have time before, but…thanks to shadow kitty129, Electra292, Gaslight, Ginger, Marvelo Lady (critique helps!), ginny_riddle, LadyAvi, Setsuna, and especially eunuch (who's much much better at writing than I am!) and pommekitty (whose reviews I really enjoy but who already knows that if she's checked her email).The reviews really do encourage me. And thanks to the two people who added me to their favorite author list, but, mysteriously, haven't reviewed. I like you anyway! You know, I strangely seem to be attracting a lot of Harry Potter fans, for reasons unknown… 

Okay, a bit of rambling there, but in the past two chapters I haven't had time to write proper author's notes, so I guess I felt I had to make up for it. Not much lighthearted stuff going on in the next chapter, I'm afraid, but you never know. Things happen. Don't you just hate it when characters insist on doing things you didn't tell them to? And they're very stubborn. I really will stop now.


	4. Intrigue and Illness

Disclaimer: LotR and all its related characters do not belong to me and are used without permission. Book based. Spoilers potentially for RotK and TTT

"Into Shadow She Rode"

Chapter 4: Intrigue and Illness

by Papillon

The shutters were closed, but sunlight filtered in through the cracks, stretching its demanding fingers over the room and over the bed where a huddled figure lay. The figure stirred, groaning and pulling the blankets up over its head.

_My head…aches as though the hammers of the dwarves pounded at it!_ Théodred thought, struggling to bring himself awake. He tasted a bitter lingering on his tongue, as if he were ill or drunk, and tried to swallow it away, but the moisture would not come. _What…happened? _He tried to sort through the pounding in his head and re-gather his memories, yet found them scattered and difficult to recall. Finally, he caught a snippet of conversation…Éowyn frowning, speaking insistently. Of…_Wormtongue!_

His memory began to solidify, rushing back. _That foul snake, Wormtongue!_ _He tried to kill my father yesterday! _He pulled himself up to a sitting position, but then slumped back against the wall behind his bed. He searched his memory further, trying to remember why it was that he abruptly felt as though he had to retch. _I departed from Éowyn and Éomer…went to my chambers…poured myself a glass of wine, undressed, and went to bed, as I always do…why this? _ He shook his head, as though to brush the dizziness away. _I feel as though I had been drugged…drugged! My wine!_

Had he not been weakened by whatever poison it was, Théodred would have leapt out of bed and gone to throttle his serving maid. _That wench! Who is she working for?_ He thought carefully. _Wormtongue perhaps…but why drug me now? Surely he cannot have heard our conversation of last night. Surely...…_

  


Éowyn crossed over to the corner of the room where Éomer was standing, his tenseness betrayed by the tightness of his shoulders and the stiffness of his stance. "Where is Théodred?" she asked in a soft undertone. "Théoden has nearly finished his repast and will begin his counsel with all who desire it soon."

"You need not tell me of these things," he said. "They are as apparent to me as to you. Théodred must come now, else the common people will begin their petitions and pleas."

She heard the unnecessary sharpness of his words and looked closely at his face, discerning the brooding look in his eyes. "Éomer, what troubles you? It is more than Gríma's treachery, that much I know."

"It is naught," he said, avoiding her gaze. "Naught but concern for my king."

Inwardly she sighed. _Will he never learn that he cannot lie to me? _"Éomer…last night you were drawn deep into your thoughts. Can you tell me they were only thoughts of your king?"

"I-" he started to say, but was interrupted by a door opening across from them. Théodred entered the room, and Éowyn thought to herself that he staggered a little and walked unsteadily, almost as if he were ill or drunk. There were very few in the room, only the king, his immediate family, guards, and some guests from outlying keeps and manors; the commoners would come to seek court with the king later. Still, all the eyes in the room were raised from their meals and pulled out of their conversations when Théodred cried loudly, "I come to seek an audience with my father! I come to speak against the traitor in our midst-the Wormtongue whose vile words have nearly deceived us all! I am prepared to defend this claim with my sword and my honor!" He looked then directly at Gríma, eyes narrowing dangerously, and all those present followed his gaze, expressions of shock and disbelief crossing their faces. 

_Now he can no longer slink in the shadows and filth, hoping to hide behind my father. Now it comes to the thing-what will he do? _Théodred tried to ignore the aching still in his head, and searched Gríma's face. The eyes were lidded as always, the dark pupils beneath revealing nothing. Yet he thought he discerned a small curving of the mouth, as if to smile. Théodred was not left to ponder the meaning behind this apparent lack of fear, for Théoden stood, calling the attention of all to him. 

He turned to Théodred. "My son, do you wish to lodge a charge against my most loyal counsellor, my most trusted and respected confidant?"

Théoden thought, _Speak carefully, my son. What is this madness that has possessed you? This is perilous for us both!_

Théodred said forcefully, though the words slurred a little despite his best efforts: "Aye. This man is a traitor to the royal house. He brought the orcs upon our hunting party yesterday, hoping to kill you, then saved you in order to gain your absolute trust. He spreads his lies and deceit among us cloaked in words of wisdom. Wisdom!" He spat at Gríma's feet. 

Gríma recoiled, and his eyes flickered slightly, betraying his anger. He said smoothly, in a low, convincing voice laced with concern, "My lord king, your son is not well. See how the sweat beads upon his brow and how he struggles to stand upright even now? He is ill, hallucinating and delirious."

Théoden examined his son carefully and slowly. _Gríma speaks truly. He appears very ill._ After a long pause, he said, "Théodred, listen to the words of Gríma and send yourself back to rest. We will forget what has been said here today and not hold you responsible for your words, untruthful as they were. Many a sick man has said things he regrets later, and even you, my son, as strong as you are, may be brought low by illness."

Éowyn, standing by, saw her brother's shoulders stiffen and reached out to hold him still. _So this is how he plays his game. He is more cunning than we ever expected…_

Théodred shook his head, slightly at first and then more and more violently. He cried, "Do not listen to his lies, father! It is true that I am ill, but only because he poisoned me! He fears that I will reveal his true nature-that is why he wishes to send me to rest, not out of any concern for my health!"

Éowyn searched the room, peering into the eyes of those present. The lesser nobles had looks on their faces both appalled and alarmed. But they did not believe in Théodred. They were merely shocked by such a loss of royal dignity, and wished to end the matter and free themselves of concern over it as soon as possible. They had no desire to question things better left unquestioned and they would readily accept Gríma's tales of delirium as explanation. The guards, however, had an angry light glinting in their eyes. These men had fought with Théodred and knew he was no liar or dreamer. If anything, he was overly pragmatic, stubborn and sensible, no man to lay his sword down for nothing. If he became truly angry and not merely annoyed, it was with just cause. And he would never risk the reputation of the House of Eorl lightly. "He is a wormtongue," they muttered. But they would do nothing. They could do nothing but bide their time, for they were also loyal to their king and would obey his word until the very last. _But we have swayed them. At the very least, _they_ have listened to our truths, _she thought, grasping at that small consolation to give herself hope. 

Her attention was brought away from the other observers and back to Théodred as he collapsed heavily onto the floor, ungracefully as though all his strength was spent. The king drew in a swift breath of concern and half-rose from his chair to go to his son's side, but Gríma stopped him, saying, "Allow me, my lord. I feel responsible for this. We should not have aggravated one so ill thusly."

Gríma kneeled beside where Théodred lay sprawled upon the floor, trying to lift himself up in vain. He bent close and hissed into Théodred's ear, "Behold what befalls those who attempt to harm me. This is a warning-heed it well!" With that, he reached behind Théodred and flicked one long, unkempt fingernail at a pressure point, causing Théodred to go limp, eyes rolling back in his head. Gríma straightened, his face composed as it had been all along. "My lord," he said, "your son has fainted. I recommend that he be taken to his chambers immediately and given the best care we have to offer until he recovers his strength and health."

The king nodded and motioned to the guards standing alert beside the door. "See that it is done."

The guards hefted Théodred's limp body to their shoulders and carried him out of the room. Éowyn followed them with her eyes, a sick feeling rising in her throat. _So easily we are felled and our plans dispersed…what can any do against a foe such as this?_

Théoden , too, followed the passage of the guards, yet his face betrayed nothing of his feelings. Éowyn wondered at this, yet thought: _That is the mark of a great ruler, to not be brought low, whatever may befall him. But can he not see that he _is_ being brought low, that he will fail and fall if he does not crush this snake among us?_ She sighed. Beside her, Éomer made as if to step forward. 

"What Théodred was prevented from doing, I will do," he muttered. Éowyn quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his movement. His gaze, troubled and angry, met hers. "Éowyn, why do you prevent me from doing that which I must?"

She answered in a low voice, lest anyone overhear them. "Hear me now, brother of mine. You must not do this thing, You witnessed Théodred's fate! We cannot afford to cross Gríma, not yet. He is too dangerous! We must study him further, learn his ways and his weaknesses. Only then can we stand against him in any hope of succeeding."

"Perhaps…" he said unwillingly. 

"Nay," she said, "you must promise me you will not yet challenge him openly. Promise me this!" He turned away and would not look her in the eyes. 

She reached out to him and laid a soft hand upon his shoulder, but he flinched away. She was stunned into silence for a few moments, looking at her hand as though it did not belong to her. 

"Éomer!" she whispered sadly, almost too quietly to hear. "What haunts you, Éomer? You and I have always been as one. Why will you not tell me of the dark thoughts in your mind? Why do you recoil from me?"

"I do not know what it is which troubles me," he said, "only that I--" He broke off, a sudden look of pain crossing his face, and put a hand to his side. "Forgive me, Éowyn. My wound pains me and I must retire to my chambers," he said, then turned abruptly and left, walking slowly as though he carried a great burden on his shoulders.

Éowyn stood staring after him for a few moments in shock and wonder. _What has befallen him? He is deeply uneasy, but I cannot fathom the reason for it. It is more than Wormtongue, that I know, but…in all my life, I cannot recall another time when he drew back from my touch thusly._

  


Éomer leaned wearily against a cool stone wall, at the end of a small hallway where the windows and the torches did not reach to cast away the shadows. His wound throbbed and ached, a fiery burning of pain which would not and could not be ignored. 

_Why, by the House of Eorl, does this wound affect me so? I am not a four-year-old child who skins their knee for the first time. I am a rider of the Riddermark, and I have braved wounds graver than this many times before. So why now am I brought so low by the pain that I must leave the room like an old man crippled by age?_

He clenched at the edge of the wall in frustration, his fingers scrabbling at a crack. A wave of pain swept through him, more awful than any that had yet come, and he doubled over as if to escape it, yet felt it increase until he bit back a scream of agony. Blackness began to edge into the corners of his sight, and he felt as though red hot pinpricks danced over his skin. And then he recalled no more.

  


Théoden listened with only half his awareness to the commoners' petitions and pleas. He made the requisite responses, but his heart thought only of his son. When they were done and all had left him, he turned immediately to Gríma, finally allowing his mask of detachedness to fall. "Gríma, how fares my son? Is he very gravely ill?"

Gríma's eyes were full of concern. "Yes, my lord, I am afraid that he is. It is my belief that with diligent care he will recover, but…"

Théoden pressed, "But what? Surely he will not die."

"Do not fear, my lord," Gríma said soothingly. "He is not beyond our skill to heal by any means. You have too many other weighty matters holding your concern; trust in your healers and do not trouble yourself needlessly."

__

Théoden thought for a moment, then decided. "We shall go to visit him now and consult with his healers. Inform the door wardens that I am unavailable for counsel."

"Yes, my lord," Gríma said, bowing.

Théoden strode down several halls and up two flights of stairs, all the while thinking, _What would I do if he should die? He cannot die. He must not die._

He reached Théodred's chambers and opened the doors without knocking. The healer was nowhere to be seen, but his son lay on his bed, his face deathly pale. Théoden crossed to his side and knelt beside him, taking his hand. It was clammy and cold, as though it belonged to a newly-dead corpse. Théoden raised a tender hand and swept a lock of loose hair out of his son's face.

"You must not die, Théodred, my son," he whispered. "I am a king, but I am also a father, and you are my only son, my most prized possession. I could not bear to lose you. Please fight this illness, please emerge victorious."

Théodred stirred, and his eyes opened slightly. He coughed and then said in a weak voice, "I am not deathly ill, father. You fear more than you need to. But moreover, it is not the illness which I must fight, it is the traitor who administered it to me. This is no delirious dream, father-it is the truth! Do not let his lies sway you! If I am your most prized posession, then surely you must listen to me. Gríma poisoned me and made me ill to prevent me from exposing his true nature. He saved you yesterday only to further his own ends. You must listen! You must banish him from this land immediately ere he causes further harm to your kingdom! Father--"

But Théoden paid no heed to his words. Instead, he stood, calling out: "Healer! Where is the healer for my son?" 

A lean man, dressed in somber colors, emerged from the doorway and bowed. "My apologies, sire. I merely went to fetch some medicines."

Théoden cut him off, saying, "My son is very ill. He is delirious and has been having hallucinations. I trust that you will care for him with your utmost skill and knowledge. He is the future of this kingdom."

"Of course, my lord," said the healer. "I have no doubt that he will shortly recover. You may feel certain that I will use my utmost abilities to heal him."

Théoden nodded and departed, but Théodred thought, as the healer rummaged through his bag of medicines, _What sway this Wormtongue already holds over my father's mind and heart! I am powerless to convince him!_

  


Éomer felt consciousness begin to return, slowly and uncertainly. _Where am I? This is not my chambers._ His surroundings were not unfamiliar but neither were they right. _Stone walls…a hallway somewhere in my home…_He struggled to remember why and how he had come to be lying on the floor of a corridor, his head and side equally painful. Théodred…had tried to confront Wormtongue and reveal him to Théoden , but had failed, was poisoned and had fallen ill. He had been talking with Éowyn…his wound had pained him and he had gone out into a narrow side-hallway…and then…

He had fainted. He understood and quickly looked up to see that none had witnessed his shame. Yet a pair of dark eyes met his and he nearly groaned in despair. The eyes belonged to Gríma Wormtongue. 

__

To have him _see me conquered by this tiny wound…it is more than I can bear!_

Gríma did not laugh mockingly as he had expected, but instead said sympathetically, kneeling beside him. "You should take better care of yourself, Éomer son of Eomund, or that wound will do great harm. You of all people cannot take such a risk."

Éomer was not fooled by his fake concern, but said, struggling to sit up properly, "What business is it of yours whether I live or die?"

Gríma said in a hurt voice, "My business is that of Rohan, and you are very important to its people. And I should not like to see you gravely ill as your cousin is."

Éomer scowled. "Cease your lies. They do not fool me. I know that nothing would please you better than to see both of us dead, and you in line for the throne."

Gríma protested, "Why do you think such things? Why do you hate me so? We have many things in common, you and I."

"We have nothing in common," Éomer spat angrily.

Gríma smiled, his dark eyes unreadable. "We share a concern for your sister, for one thing."

Éomer drew back in outrage and surprise. "Concern for my sister? How dare you insinuate that she is in danger? Do you think to threaten me?"

Gríma held up a placating hand. "Be at peace, son of Eomund. I meant only that she is so young, so pure and beautiful. The men swarm around her, sullying her. She must be protected from all of them, for who is worthy of her loveliness and grace? Who deserves to steal her purity?"  
Éomer said heatedly, "No one is worthy of that, no one is deserving. There is not a man among them who I would permit to lay a hand upon her or to marry her. She is far above all of them."

"Yet you fail to stop all of them, do you not?" Gríma asked cunningly. "You cannot be with her at all times or see all that befalls her. Sooner or later, one of them will succeed."

Éomer shook his head, as much to deny Gríma's charge as to rid his head of the images crowding in. "I would die before I let that happen. It must not happen."

Gríma agreed. "No, it must not. She is so very helpless, so very innocent and exquisitely beautiful. Those undeserving of her must not be allowed to have her."

Éomer nodded slowly. "I will protect her. I will be at her side always. They will never have her. She is mine to protect."

Gríma turned at that moment and left abruptly, leaving Éomer to think upon his words. Éomer did not look up, too deep in his thoughts, else he would have seen the smile on Gríma's face. 

  


Éomer sat motionless in the hallway, his back leaned upon the wall, still in the same position he had been in when Gríma left. His head was filled with many things, things which disturbed and troubled him greatly. 

_What did Gríma mean, telling me of this matter? Was he warning me or truly threatening me?_ He sighed. Éowyn was hard for him to be around of late. She unsettled him in a way he could not quite put his finger on. He wanted to get away from her and at the same time to be always with her. And he feared for her. 

Gríma was right about the men who clamored for her attention. They had noticed her beauty and sought after it, along with her position of royalty. But none of them were worthy of her. She thought they were harmless and that she could defend herself well enough, but he knew she was wrong. He knew he had to protect her, though it would anger her greatly if she knew what he was doing. 

_What _does_ haunt me? Éowyn asked it of me, but I do not know the answer. It is not just Wormtongue…it is something more. _

Perhaps it is Éowyn. She has grown so quickly that I do not know what to do. I always thought of her as my baby sister, but one day I noticed…she is beautiful beyond measure. More beautiful even than our mother was…and in a different way.

His hands clenched into fists. _And I will never allow that beauty to be despoiled by filth. They will never harm her as long as I am alive. Never._

A/N: Contained within this chapter are two...actually, three, as I later discovered, sort-of stolen lines from the FotR movie. A friend challenged me to put them in...see if you can find them! But remember, this is book based (even though the lines are from the movie). 

I'm sorry this chapter is so very late! Can we say getting sick all last week, a 4000 word extended essay due, and my dear sister going to the hospital with pneumonia, among other things? Yeah. So I've sort of got some excuses, but I still apologize. Next chapter will come a lot sooner, I promise (*crosses fingers behind back*-no guarantees).

I can't decide whether I like this chapter or not. I think I do. Does anyone notice a change in my style (sighs shamefully). I'm influenced so very easily, and right now that happens to be the Dune series by Frank Herbert (I've never read it before! I'm liking it, though I think it's going downhill from the first book. Even so...). I may be the only one to notice it, but I do see some style influence there. This is not necessarily a bad thing, since it was always hard to force myself into Tolkien style anyway. And this style is not completely opposite and unreconciliable (is that even a word?) to Tolkien's.

So...tension grows more! Yes, indeed. Grima's just yucky, isn't he? But is he the real villain here? You'll have to wait and see. I'm thinking next chapter is mostly going to be a Grima chapter, if that floats your boat. He's certainly fun to get under the skin of.

A couple last notes before I go. I've noticed that I really get inspired plot-wise and writing-wise when I'm hiking. I guess it's because I've got nothing else to do but think (and look at the pretty scenery). Does this happen to anyone else? 

Thanks to mere (does it strike you as odd? I wasn't sure, but left it in just in case. I thought it served a purpose despite the awkwardness), shadowkitty129 (I just love my repeat reviewers), pommekitty (thanks ever so much for reviewing again! That part was my favorite too, even though I didn't plan for it to happen), Kae (don't worry, I'll try not to change it too much-change and variety are the spices of life, though), Kamikaze (I think I might have found that site-oh, yes, I like Theodred. Thanks for reading!), and Gaslight (I read your action scene-it was very intense, and very well done! Congratulations, and I really appreciate your reviews-you've made me feel better about Theodred, who I wasn't too sure about). I love reviews, yes indeed! 


	5. Enemy

Disclaimer: LotR and all its related characters do not belong to me and are used without permission. Book based. Spoilers potentially for RotK and TTT

Into Shadow She Rode

Chapter 5: Enemy 

by Papillon

A twilight was falling over the land. A gathering gloom spread over the cities and towns, over the mountains and hills. Its usual deep violet colour was tinged with brown and angry red, as though dirty, for a storm hung menacingly on the horizon. The wind whipped the banner of the Riddermark back and forth violently and all save the door wardens sought shelter indoors. So it was that no one marked the lone figure, standing just inside the walls, in a deepening darkness of shadow. He turned his face to the sky, as though seeking something in its dark clouds.

A bird came flying in low over Edoras, concealed by its black feathers against the twilight sky. Gríma son of Gálmód lifted his arm to it in greeting and it settled easily just above his wrist. Gríma ran his hands over its sleek feathers, and found what he sought.

_Ah, the message! That fool Saruman ought not to have used such a large bird to deliver it-anyone could have seen this!_

Gríma sighed and released the bird, watching it fly off into the darkness. His master was seldom concerned for Gríma's security. _Calling those orcs down-what a foolish thing to do! It nearly revealed me. Or would have, if Théodred was not such a fool._

He smiled. That, at least, had gone according to plan. Three months had passed since Théodred had challenged him publicly, and while he had begun to recover from his illness, the effects of that day were just beginning to unfold. Gríma smiled as he tucked the message under his arm. He knew what it contained-more secrets for creating subtle poisons which twisted a person's mind as well as their body. 

  
  


He made his way back to Meduseld, following twisting side paths and pulling his cloak over his head, for heavy droplets had begun to fall. The door wardens stepped forward when he reached the top of the steps, their hands on their sword hilts, but once they recognized his face, they retreated and let him through. _The king has given them orders that I am to do whatever I please, to come and go at odd hours if I so choose! He gives more trust over to me day by day, _Gríma thought to himself with pleasure. 

He opened the doors to the king's chambers, but found them empty, as expected. Théoden would be dining privately with Théodred, as he had been these past months. Soon Théodred would fully recover, and Gríma wondered whether Théoden would begin to eat with the visitors and court again. People murmured that he did not eat in public for fear of revealing his infirmity and weakness. They said he had suddenly begun to age, and whispers hungered for a stronger king. 

Gríma closed the doors and turned suddenly when he caught a golden glint out of the corner of his eye. It was Éowyn, darting into a side corridor. She had obviously been trying to avoid his attention, and Gríma took pleasure in her anger and discomfort at being caught. She, too, heard the whispers, and they lay heavily on her. 

Gríma bowed, not troubling to hide his mocking smile. "My lady Éowyn. How fare you this unquiet eve?"

"Well enough," she said curtly, not troubling to feign politeness. She opened her mouth as if to make an excuse and bid him farewell, but he spoke first and the words died on her lips.

"Your cousin appears to be recovering, does he not?" he asked, ignoring the angry drawing together of her brows. She was not so bold as to utterly defy him, so she was at his mercy until he chose to let her go. Gríma studied her from under lowered lids as he waited for a reply. 

Her hair had come loose from its braids as it often did, and wisps trailed in her face. Her cheeks were ruddy with exertion and she carried a bucket as though she had been in the middle of some chore or errand. _I will never lay eyes upon a more lovely sight, _he thought to himself. 

Éowyn's eyes narrowed and Gríma laughed inwardly. She knew very well the true cause of Théodred's illness, but dared not challenge him openly yet, knowing the consequences Théodred had faced. She struggled to control her indignation and said tightly, "Yes, he is finally well once more." Gríma heard the unspoken rest of the sentence, too: "…despite your poisons and wickedness." 

He let an expression of tender concern cross his face and said, "Ah, but your uncle, the king, seems ill of late to me. He is driving himself sick with concern over his son. He seems so haggard and aged that I worry more for him than for Théodred! And he has sorely neglected the affairs of the kingdom, spending all hours of the day by his son's side. Alas for the troubles we must suffer." He sighed wearily.

Éowyn responded just as he had predicted, saying heatedly, "Do not imply with your twisted words that my uncle is not a fit king! I warn you, speak no ill towards him or I will see to it that you are punished."

Gríma looked pained. "My lady, I meant no offense! Théoden was a truly great king in his prime. But all things must wither and fade away in time. Théoden is not as he once was, just as Rohan is not as it once was."

She stepped closer, unconsciously, threats in her movements. "How dare you insult the Riddermark in my presence!"

Gríma backed away, pretending to show fear, though in actuality he knew she was much more cool-tempered than her brother and would not harm him. "My lady! I beseech you, do not misunderstand me! I mean only to say that beside such brilliant jewels as Gondor, Rohan's glory is much diminished. The men there are noble and true, far above us. We have bravery, it is true, but they have wisdom and grace. If ever you visited the White City, as I have, you would understand."

Gríma watched her face closely to see how she would react. He knew his words were bold, but they were spoken with the cunning voice of persuasion he had learned from his master, a voice few could resist. Éowyn was no different, it seemed, for she stepped back and asked, "Is Gondor truly as great as you have said?"

Gríma hid his triumph and responded, "Oh, it is far beyond my ability to describe. But all the land and the people are filled with majesty and honor. To a man from Gondor, we would appear uncouth and rude."  
"Perhaps," Éowyn said thoughtfully, looking off into the distance, but after a moment of silence she straightened and seemed to gain a new strength. She declared, "Yet to us they would seem affected of manner and weak. We do not value politeness over valor in battle! I care not for the_ noble_ men of Gondor unless their deeds strengthen their words!"

Forgetting herself, she took a step away, as if to leave, then seemed to remember that she could not insult the king's most beloved counsellor thusly. Gríma watched her, fascinated. She was truly strong of will to resist him so completely. Though in truth the voice often buried itself deep inside a person, working unnoticed from within. Only when the tension became too great would the persuasive words finally take root and show themselves. _Ah, the skills I have learned! Saruman is wise indeed, though little concerned for my well being as long as I serve my purpose. Someday, though, he will find that I have learned more than he expected…_

Éowyn cleared her throat to draw his attention back to her. "May I beg pardon and-" she began, but he stopped her unexpectedly, mid-sentence.

"Do you fear me?" he asked in an unusually earnest tone of voice.

Éowyn raised her chin and met his eyes. "I fear no man, least of all you!"

_What beauty! What unquenchable fire!_ Abruptly, he bowed and said, "I fear I must take leave of you now, my lady." 

A startled look crossed Éowyn's face, but she curtsied gracefully nonetheless. "Until we meet again, Gríma son of Gálmód," she said, as was required. Without waiting for him to respond, she turned and strode quickly down the hall, obviously eager to be away from him.

  
  


Gríma waited until she had turned the corner, then slipped into the darkness at the sides of the corridor quietly, following her like a shadow. _Another skill learned from the master! But I am more skilled at it than even he. I move as quietly as a snake in the underbrush…_

Éowyn turned down another hall and into a chamber. Gríma crept to the doorway and beheld her embracing her brother, eyes closed in contented happiness.

Éomer had much improved since Théodred had first fallen sick. _Or, at least, he thinks he has improved. And so does she. So she desperately wants to believe, so she makes herself believe, makes herself forget his odd behavior and forgive his over-protectiveness._ In fact, Gríma knew that the poison his words had spread had merely retreated deep into Éomer's being, hiding and working its subtle evils unnoticed. _Someday, it will reveal itself. But it suits me now for him to merely be protective. We cannot allow Éowyn to be despoiled or tainted, and he prevents it better than any other could. She must be pure…for me…_

He turned back to the scene within the room and saw Éowyn taking an old box from a wooden chest. Contained within were the carved pieces of the game Fréanith. It was a children's game, created by King Fréa of old, who did not inherit the throne until very late in life, and was said to have spent all of his youth in play and diversion. Gríma knew from previous observation that it was a dearly beloved game of Éomer, though he would be shamed if other warriors or Théodred were to know that he still played it. S_omeday…that might be useful to reveal…but no, I do not play my games so pettily._

Gríma stepped closer to hear their conversation. Éowyn retrieved a small wood stallion from the box and cried, "Brewine is mine today! He is always your piece, but today you shall have Feoforth."

Éomer sighed. "You may, but only if you permit me to have the golden chip."

Éowyn nodded reluctantly, but reached over to hit Éomer lightly in the side in mock protest. "You should give your beloved sister the advantage!"

Éomer did not wince at all when hit; his wound had now fully healed. _Actually, it healed quite quickly, once I stopped administering the poison to it, _Gríma thought. _Alas for Éomer, who thought himself so weak! His weakness and doubt made it so very easy to work my devices on him, to use the cunning words, the effects of which he does not yet know…_

They sat at a small table and began setting up the wooden pieces, each drawing several tiny wooden chips from a pile. Éowyn examined hers and exclaimed, "The Sufferer? Thrice already this past week I have drawn her! Why do I never draw the Avenger or the Warrior?"

Éomer smiled superiorly, for Gríma had noticed he often drew the Warrior, but his smile faded when he turned his eyes to his own chips. "Alas! I have the Betrayer this eve! It will be an ill-fated game, it seems."

Éowyn's eyes narrowed competitively. "Perhaps, dear brother, but a skilled player can turn even the worst draw to their own advantage, can they not?" 

"Do you think to challenge me? We shall see who wins!" Éomer said, leaning forward eagerly.

Gríma turned his back on their game, a slight pang pricking his heart. _They are so very happy…but their draws forebode what is to come. What a pity that Éowyn must endure so much before she will finally be mine. A pity indeed._

  
  


He left Éowyn and Éomer to their game and walked slowly down the stairs to his room, locking the door behind him. He unfolded Saruman's message and quickly scanned its contents, then retrieved some necessary items from his chest. He would begin to weave a tapestry of poisons about Théoden, layer upon layer, slowly adding as the years went by, until he was brought low and his throne toppled. 

One to prey upon his worry for Théodred and age him prematurely, at least to the outward eye; one to make him overly cautious and slow to act against enemies; one to weaken his limbs and bow his back; one to make him overly trusting of all that was said to him in a certain tone, which Gríma had mastered, of course…there were many poisons, and not all of these were physical ones. Some were tricks of words, webs spun by tones and pitches of voice so subtle that they would never be detected. 

Ah, and there were instructions for controlling Éomer, for continuing to plant ideas and thoughts deep in his subconscious, so that they became so much a part of him that he never questioned how they came to be. Also instructions for more weakening poisons like the one he had used on Éomer's wound, in case Éomer should ever become difficult to control. Gríma doubted such a thing would be necessary again. Éomer hated him, true, but he also dared not harm him and go against Éowyn's explicit wishes. 

Though Gríma sometimes wondered if Éowyn herself did not secretly wish to harm him. When she beheld him, there was often such a fiery look of malice in her eyes that he shivered a little to see it. She was like some untamed wild mare, full of spirit and natural grace, and he would be the one to tame her! He would not tie the harness about her too tightly, for he valued her wildness, worshipped it even. 

But she was too wild now. If he were to offer himself to her, he would be utterly rejected, and if he tried to take her, she might kill him. Therefore he bided his time and worked subtly. Though…_I would never poison her! Not Éowyn! She deserves far better. She is a challenge, with such unquenchable determination and stubbornness, and it is my task to slowly make her mine, through subtle words and voice and nothing more._ He smiled half bitterly to himself. _And by making her stand alone, by depriving her of all supports and strengths, so that she will have no choice but to seek me! And I will welcome her with open arms, and make her mine, and we will leave this miserable kingdom of Rohan behind, free to go wherever we chose. Ah, when Saruman's plans are complete, what bliss we shall have! It will take years…but I will be patient. I will be waiting for my time…_

A/N: Okay, I admit it; I don't like this chapter all that much. And the next chapter won't be too terribly interesting either, unless you really like Saruman for some reason. Buuuut, the chapter after that I absolutely love, and yes, I've already written it, and it's where things really start to heat up, so to say. So you should definitely bear with me for a bit while I set up some back-story. 

Sorry this took so long yet again! But I have another excuse! Shortly after I posted up the last chapter, I came down with a kidney infection. Unfortunately, I didn't realize it was my kidneys and thought I'd just strained my back, and so I suffered through it until finally it got really bad and I had a 103 degrees Fahrenheit fever. Not very fun, but then we figured out what was wrong, and I got put on Cipro, the stuff they give to you when you have Anthrax. So come on terrorists, I'm ready!

I'm sure you didn't really want to hear all that. It's just my way of making excuses. From now on, the updating schedule will be more regular, I promise, I really do. Barring any more unexpected illnesses, but we really hope that doesn't happen. And since I've already got some advance stuff written, even if I get sick, I'm covered. Sort of. 

So…this chapter. Is short, yes I know. But I can only stay inside one person's head for so long, and I like Éomer's and Éowyn's heads much better than Gríma's. He's just not my focus or my favorite (sorry Gríma fans!). Well, er, I do like reading about him, but not writing it, if you catch my drift? What an odd expression. And yes, I did make up that game, Fréanith(Ô ), and no, I have absolutely no idea how you'd play it. Sorry. Stay tuned, since chapter seven is the best thing since sliced bread, I promise (er, not really).

Thank you very much to the few who did review- have I lost everyone else with my long pauses between updates? Apparently so, which is a pity, but I'm writing for myself, so it's okay, I suppose. 


	6. Presumptions

Disclaimer: LotR and all its related characters do not belong to me and are used without permission. Book based. Spoilers potentially for RotK and TTT

Into Shadow She Rode

Chapter 6: Presumptions 

by Papillon

__

Éomer threw open the doors of Meduseld and strode into the Great Hall angrily, not bothering to nod to the door wardens or bow to the lesser nobles, but stopping directly in front of Théoden's throne. 

"Théoden, I must speak to you immediately!" he said loudly. When a response did not come, he looked up and saw three faces staring back at him with displeasure. 

Éowyn examined her brother coolly. His hair was in disarray, his clothes rumpled, torn, and muddy, and his cheeks were ruddy and sweat-stained. He had obviously just returned from a ride, and she wondered that he would come so quickly, without even taking the time to make himself a little presentable. _Besides,_ she thought with annoyance, _he has interrupted the talk I was trying to have with Théoden! It is hard enough to speak without Gríma's interference, and now I have lost my chance._

Gríma broke the uncomfortable silence by admonishing Éomer, "You should not address your king thusly, young Lord Éomer."

Éomer's fists clenched, and he seemed about to respond angrily, but controlled himself, ignoring Gríma entirely and speaking directly to Théoden.

"We have just returned from another orc raid. We had gone to investigate reports of an unruly nobleman holding villagers hostage and demanding ransom, as you know, but we were ambushed. The orcs knew we would be there, they knew when we would come and how many of us there would be. Someone has been sending us false messages! There is a betrayer among us!"

He said the last deliberately loudly, and looked straight at Gríma. Gríma met his stare directly, and neither flinched nor looked away from the anger in his gaze. Inwardly, Éowyn sighed as she watched him. _When will he learn we cannot yet challenge Gríma? Théoden is already far beyond our reach! He will never trust us about Gríma until we have proof, which we do not have!_

Another voice spoke up, and all eyes turned to Théodred, who had just entered the hall. "Do you mean to say that someone within our court has the power to call up orcs? I think not. Nay, there is a betrayer among us, but he has not the strength. He has other aid, a very powerful ally."

Gríma opened his mouth to speak, but Éomer cut him off. "An ally, you say? Someone such as Saruman, perhaps?"

_This is a dangerous game they play!_ thought Éowyn. _Even if Saruman is our enemy, can we dare to stand against him?_

"Saruman the White?" asked Gríma indignantly. "Surely you jest! He is the ally of Rohan, a steadfast one who has always been at our side in times of trial. He would never turn against us."

"If that is so," returned Éomer, "then where has he been of late, when we have been plagued by more and more orc raids and ambushes? They grow increasingly bold, and darkness creeps in. Why then does he not offer us aid?"

Gríma paused for only a moment, then said smoothly, "Of course he would, if he but knew of our plight. We must dispatch messengers immediately!"

Théoden held up his hand in protest and said, "My good counsellor, let us not be too hasty. The kingdom of Rohan is well able to protect itself without aid from others. I must ponder this matter further before I decide what course of action we will take."

Gríma bowed and replied, "Of course, my lord."

_Perhaps it is just as well_, Éowyn thought, _for we do not know what Saruman is capable of and how he would react._ _And I fear him. There have been stories…_

Her thoughts were interrupted by a messenger rushing into the room, a look of urgency upon his face. "My lord, my lord!" he cried, breathing heavily.

Théoden allowed him a moment to compose himself, then asked, "Yes? What is it?"

"Please do not be angry, my lord!" the messenger begged. "The outer guards tried to stop him, but…"

"Stop your muttering!" snapped Gríma, and Éowyn was surprised to see a look of anxiety on his face. "They tried to stop who?"

"They…Saruman," the man said reluctantly. "He came without notice, and the sentries failed to give the guards enough warning, and…he is within the city walls, coming to see you at this moment." He looked down, shame on his face.

"It is no fault of yours. You are dismissed," Théoden replied, and, when the messenger had left, continued, "Perhaps we may turn this unlooked for meeting to our advantage. I shall discuss with Saruman the matter of aid, and, if you wish it, Éomer, I will ask what cause he may be able to give for why the orcs are able to get information on our movements. Indeed, I look forward to this meeting, as unexpected as it is, for he is said to be very wise. You must all go quickly and dress in a manner fitting to greet such a guest."

Éowyn rose to depart with the rest of them, and, catching a glimpse of Gríma, marveled at the sudden pallid look of his face. _What cause has he to fear Saruman?_ she wondered, dread filling her. _What cause indeed?_

  


Saruman smiled to himself as he climbed the stairs to Meduseld, his men behind him. _I imagine that at this moment, Gríma is cowering in fear, afraid of my wrath. Well, he has good reason to be afraid…but that is not the sole purpose for my visit…_

They reached the doors and Saruman strode by the guards, ignoring the raised swords, which were quickly dropped when they saw the authority with which he carried himself. He stepped into the high hall and amusedly surveyed the scene before his eyes. _Gríma, face ashen as expected…Théoden, full of confidence, for he does not suspect what is being done to him even at this moment…those two young men, son and nephew of Théoden I believe, both filled with anger at my coming…but they are powerless and their emotions will only serve to betray them…and, ah, that must be the woman which Gríma tries to avoid speaking of…it is all too apparent that he desires her, but it matters not. It is the key to the power I hold over him, and as good as any other._

His eyes lingered longest on Éowyn, and the discomfort and fear in her eyes filled him with pleasure. _She is quite pretty…but that I had expected. That is common. She is nothing more than another royal beauty, with a bit more spirit than most, but…I have seen my share. She is no different. She too can be controlled._

Éowyn's fists balled at her sides, and Saruman knew she had seen the dismissal in his eyes, the contempt that came from many long years and many women who had thought themselves strong. _Once I admired them for their fierceness of living, but…mortals are all weak and foolish, merely pawns who must be shown what to do._

Théoden broke the silence that had fallen upon Saruman's entrance, and declared, "Saruman, our friend and ally, let me welcome you to our hall. Though your visit be unexpected, we shall treat you with honor and respect. Furthermore, there are many matters which I need bring to your attention, so let us make the most of the time you are with us."

"Unexpected?" Saruman echoed, and knew that all present marveled at the rich quality of his voice, save perhaps Gríma, who knew a little of the workings of it…though his mastery of it was still very poor, of course. "King Théoden, my friend, I sent messengers many days ago, to inform you of my visit. Surely you received the message, did you not?" _Of course there were no messengers…but it serves me well for them to be unprepared._

"No messengers ever arrived," said Théoden in reply, "but it matters not. Come; let us address those concerns which have arisen in my hall of late. Please, sit here beside my throne." He motioned to a chair directly below his throne.

"I thank you for your kind offer, but I prefer to stand," said Saruman. _Does he think me so foolish as to accept a seat _below_ him? No, I shall stand above him, and look down upon him, as is fitting._

Théoden nodded slightly, then began: "My nephew, Éomer, has come to me with complaints of orc raids and orc ambushes. He claims the orcs know our positions and our movements and are therefore able to attack us when we are least ready. He also says that someone has been sending us false messages to lure us into traps where the orcs may sweep down on us. What do you have to say concerning this matter?"

_Interesting that he places the blame on his nephew, as if he does not fully trust what the nephew has said. Gríma has done his work well._ Drawing easily upon the skills of his voice, Saruman responded, "King Théoden, your nephew does right to worry so. Sauron's enemies are ever among us in these dark days." 

"Sauron?" Théoden asked. "I have heard rumors of his power growing, but surely he is not that strong yet?"

__

These foolish mortals know nothing of the power growing in the East which will soon sweep down upon them! "Ah, but he is, my dear King Théoden. Though you know it not, I am wise beyond your measure, and I have seen it. For now he is content to cloak himself in disguises-but because of this, you must be ever the more vigilant. Do not trust foreigners, or even those among your own people who rebel against your will, for they may be the traitors of Sauron."

Théoden paused thoughtfully, and Saruman knew his words had taken root. He continued: "You may rely upon me for aid if ever you should need it. But I am afraid there is little I can offer you in arms and strength. Let me instead offer you advice."

Théoden nodded, now nearly completely under his spell. "I would humbly advise that you make very strong this city and its defenses. But do not take too much care for affairs in the outlying edges of your region! Before you are aware of it, you will be besieged, and therefore I advise you to concern yourself with remaining where you are, and not meddling in trivial affairs far from home."

Saruman could feel anger emanating from Éowyn, Éomer, and Théodred. They cared for the people in the small villages far away, and in other lands. _Fools! My words are not directed at them-they are receiving other messages, though they know it not._

"Furthermore, I think it wise for you to make your nephew, Éomer, a marshal of the Mark, for then will he be able to address the issue of raiding orcs to his full satisfaction. However, I know that he is young, though very valiant, and perhaps unready or unwilling to accept such responsibility now, so you must allow him to assume this responsibility in the hour of his choosing." _That is a personal safeguard…for with it he can be removed whenever I wish. He will not choose to leave his sister yet, but when I judge him no longer useful or a threat, I shall, through Gríma, cause him to leave._

Éomer's wrath was forgotten in his gladness upon hearing Saruman's advice, but Saruman noticed that Éowyn's was not. _She will have to be controlled more subtly…I must speak with Gríma._

Théoden readily agreed to follow Saruman's advice, as he had known he would. _He has been weakened by Gríma, and now is so easily controlled! How wonderful!_ Théoden then declared, "Let us end this council, which has been most satisfactory for all of us. Please, let me show you to your chambers, Saruman."

"You are gracious indeed," responded Saruman, and, as he turned to follow the guard Théoden had summoned, turned his eyes directly upon Gríma, who immediately sprang out of his seat, muttering, "My Lord Théoden, allow me to show our guest." _Gríma, my slave, you have lost all of your poise in your utter fear! _Saruman thought with amusement. 

  


They walked along in silence, passing through empty passages which echoed with their footsteps. Finally Gríma dared to ask timidly, "My lord Saruman? Are you angered by aught I have done?"

Saruman did not answer immediately, preferring to let Gríma suffer. _Now he discovers that the contempt he holds for me when I am away vanishes when I am present. I know what is in his heart…I know how he purposes to be mightier than me-what a vain fool he is! He needs to be taught that he is nothing without me, and that if I wished, I could smite him where he stands._

He spoke, using his most commanding voice, "Yes, my slave, there is." He paused a moment to enjoy the look of sudden guilt and fear which crossed Gríma's face. "I know the secret plots you hold in your heart. Nothing can be hidden from me. You must realize this, and never think to scheme against me."

"My l-l-lord," Gríma stammered, "I know not of what you speak."

Saruman stopped walking abruptly, and Gríma clumsily halted his steps. Saruman turned to face Gríma, looking down imposingly. "They call you Wormtongue, do you know, Gríma? It is a fitting name, for you are truly a worm, not worthy to be in my presence."

Gríma bowed low. "I know this, my lord. Please forgive what I have done to offend you."

_Ah, now he is mine. So easily won over…by some of the very same tricks he himself uses on others!_ Saruman changed his tone, becoming more soothing and consoling. "Yet you are still far above most mortals, who worry themselves with trivial things and do not know the true meaning of power. They abuse you, treat you as dirt, never suspecting that one day you will avenge yourself, and they shall know the true meaning of pain."

Gríma looked up, hope and desire alight in his eyes. "Yes, my lord, one day, with your aid, I shall make them all suffer, make them all regret how they have treated me! They are all fools who do not understand the greatness you have taught me. But we shall show them!"

Saruman held up a cautioning hand. "Be not too hasty, my obedient slave. All will come in due time. But you must be cautious and subtle, for our time is not yet come-though it will soon." Abruptly, he changed his tone yet again. "I have seen the woman you desire."

Gríma lowered his eyes, and glanced cunningly up at Saruman. _If only he knew how transparent the posturing of mortals is to those such as me. _Saruman continued: "She is beautiful, but she is not an easy prize. Are you certain there is no other woman I may offer you?"

Gríma said vehemently, "There is none other I will have than Éowyn, my lord. I must have her!"

Saruman paused as if in thought, though of course he already knew what needed to be said. "Then you shall have her. But you must be careful. She is dangerous, as is her brother, and even her cousin. You must wait for things which I have set in motion to be completed. Do not act too early!"

Reassured that his prize was secure, Gríma said obediently, "When then shall she be ready, my lord?"

"You will know when it is time," responded Saruman, "for I shall inform you. Only then may you begin to slowly move in, so slowly that she is powerless to stop you, so that she loses her strength and will to live day by day. Wait until all her supports are destroyed, until all her reasons for living are gone. Then she shall lose her power to resist you-then she shall surrender to you, giving in to the inevitable."

"But my lord," Gríma protested, "I do not wish her completely devoid of all spirit!"

Saruman said sympathetically, "Ah, yes, my slave, it is unfortunate but necessary. You do not know the ways of mortal women as I do. They can be tamed no other way, for, when assailed upon all sides, they simply collapse. But I promise you that you shall still receive much enjoyment from her, and if you wish, I have subtle drinks which would give her some personality, once she is yours."

Gríma sighed, but Saruman's words had worked upon him and so he changed the subject. "Are you certain that she would not merely go mad, like a desperate cornered animal? Is that not a risk? She is an extraordinary woman, and I do not think such fire would be extinguished easily. I imagine some small part would still remain, and burst into flame when all other hope is lost."

"Do not question me, Gríma!" Saruman said forcefully, watching Gríma cower before him, then added contemptuously, "Mortal women are all alike. They imagine themselves great and strong, but in actuality they are not valiant enough to face death and hopelessness. They would rather choose even such a fate as a life with you, rather than boldly strike out. Do not trouble yourself further, my slave, over these matters. Merely do what you are commanded, and all things shall fall into place. You are dismissed."

Gríma bowed, and left Saruman alone to walk the halls and seek his chambers.

__

A/N: The boring chapter, dun dun dun. Er, and I know I promised I'd update regularly, and two weeks isn't exactly regularly…well, it sort of is. But I haven't a very good excuse. I guess it's just that this chapter was kind of boring for me to write. Not terribly interesting, but it is a necessary chapter for several reasons, some of which will only become clear later, and so it had to be written, and now that it's done I don't mind it that much I guess. 

I don't have many comments about it, though, other than that I kind of had to make myself write it. It wasn't so bad once I got started, but…I need to go on another hike! Hopefully next weekend I can. Anyway, I decided while writing it to make most of it from Saruman's point of view, partly because I imagine that by the end of this story, I will get so incredibly sick of Eowyn and Eomer, so I might as well take the opportunity while it's there. So…this is my vision of what Saruman's thinking. Not quite wise, aged, or powerful enough, but I'm using the excuse that by this point he's been so corrupted that he's lost some of his majesty and wisdom and such. I don't think I'd ever try writing from Gandalf's point of view, since he grows in those things, rather than decreases. But you never know.

So…the next chapter is the big one, the first turning point I suppose, where all this buildup actually leads to something. And it is basically written, though it must be edited and I must gain the courage to put it up and receive reader's responses. So it should be up soon-it's not long, but…I like it. Well…I guess I'll tell you more about it when it's actually up!

My reviewers have returned, and made me very happy! Believe me, as slow as this chapter was (and shouldn't have been), it would have been even slower if I didn't have the guilt about not giving you guys more to read! Thanks Joanna (Tolkien-esque? Thanks! I think I'm losing more of it and incorporating more of my own as the story goes on, though), pip4life/shadowkitty129 (I'm sorry I'm so slow-but it's partly because I'm a school kid, too! And all questions will be answered later), Nimrodel (I'm glad you liked the game-that was my little attempt at creative back story), Wilwarin (er...all questions will be answered, yea or nay, in the next chapter [well, not all, but...]), pommekitty (I love my regular reviewers! Hope this Saruman chapter isn't too boring-I'm not a big fan of his either, obviously), Emme (it will keep coming, that I guarantee, but as for the updating soon...I'll try!), Tateybinks (He is very icky, yes-I'm glad I portrayed that well. And then you get to see him wimp out in this chapter!), and rohan-nitpick (Soon you'll get to see-but never lose hope for a happy ending, even though there's going to be a lot of pain first).

See you soon! (If my promises about updating regularly have any meaning anymore. Sigh) 


	7. To Fall, To Fail, To Fly

Disclaimer: LotR and all its related characters do not belong to me and are used without permission. Book based. Spoilers potentially for RotK and TTT

Into Shadow She Rode

Chapter 7: To Fall, to Fail, to Fly

by Papillon

__

Théoden settled himself into his throne with a sigh. "Yes, my son, what is it you wished to see me concerning?" he asked wearily of Théodred, who stood before him with brows knitted in thought. 

"My dear father," he responded, "I have been considering our kingdom's affairs much of late, and Éowyn in particular has been in my thoughts often."

"Éowyn?" Théoden echoed. "What cause have you to think of Éowyn? She carries herself with grace and beauty enough, and does not shame our house."

Théodred shook his head emphatically. "Nay, father, she does, or she will. She bears none of the fault for it, however; it has come upon her, and only we can resolve it for her."

"Cease your riddles, son," Théoden began, but fell silent abruptly when a side door opened and Éowyn, with Gríma at her heels, entered. 

Éowyn crossed to the dias quickly and opened her mouth to speak, but Gríma broke in first. "Sire, the Lady Éowyn expressed a desire to cook your evening meal herself, but I told her this was unnecessary and too mean a task for a lady such as herself. The serving maids do it with alacrity and they have no need for meddling nobles to-"

Éowyn stepped in front of him, a frustrated look upon her features. "Uncle, I merely wished to show my love and devotion to you by cooking you a simple meal, nothing more. I do not trust those serving maids… they have grown slack and lazy of late." 

Seeing that he was about to kindly rebuke her and follow Gríma's advice, as he always did, she cried desperately, "And what else have I to do, trapped in this hall all of my days? Nothing! I am as a caged animal who paces back and forth until he is driven mad!"

Théodred smiled, drawing Éowyn's wrath. _Does he dare to mock me?_ she thought angrily, but he held up a hand to stop her further outburst. "Father, this is exactly what has occupied my thoughts these past weeks. Éowyn is almost twenty years old! She cannot forever remain in our household as if she were a child. It would be advantageous to both her and the House of Eorl if she were to marry. Therefore I propose that we begin searching for suitable men immediately, so that she may be wed and free from her boredom."

Immediately, three voices began speaking simultaneously. Éowyn started to cry out in protest, but then, as Théoden called for silence, reconsidered. _Perhaps…perhaps then I could be free…_

She interrupted, "Would I choose for myself whom I would wed?"

Théodred began to answer, "Surely we would allow you to-" but Théoden silenced him with a stern look.

"Gríma, what say you to this proposal of marriage? Think you that it is wise?" he asked, turning to his counsellor. 

Stepping closer to Théoden's chair, Gríma responded, "My lord, it is very ill-conceived. Éowyn is far too young to leave her family's household yet. True, many girls are married at her age, but she is royalty, and therefore cannot take marriage lightly. It is far too serious a matter for her yet."

Éowyn bit back a cry of dismay and anger. _How dare he speak of me as though I were a flighty child! He has no control over me!_ she thought. 

Gríma continued. "She is also very valuable and precious. You must spend years in thought before you give her away to an ill-deserving man who will despoil her beauty and worth. Therefore, my lord, I advise you to delay marriage, perhaps for many years to come. She is needed where she is now."

Inwardly, Éowyn laughed bitterly. _Needed? I am as needed and as useful as a stone tied around one's neck. What lies he always spreads!_

But to her dismay, Théoden nodded, after a pause, and said slowly, "I find your advice to be, as always, wise, my most trusted counsellor. Éowyn shall not marry until he feels that she is ready and that we are able to find her a suitable man to wed."

Théodred said in a low voice, "Father, I do not think it is wise to listen to him always, for his words are not always as they seem."

Éowyn barely noticed Théoden's dismissive response, for she was concentrating on keeping hot tears from rushing to her eyes. _Another hope of freedom from this place dashed as though it never was! I am so desperate that I would even marry a man I do not love, simply to get away, away from that skulking worm and my uncle slowly degenerating before my eyes! But Gríma will prevent it, as he has always prevented it, as he will forever prevent it! Why? Why must he take such delight in my suffering?_

  


She turned quickly and left the room, ignoring all politeness and courtesy. She strode quickly, half-running, down to the stables. _I have to get out of this cursed stifling place!_ She reached the entrance to the stables and was amazed to find a guard standing before the door.

"Let me through," she demanded, in no mood to ask politely. 

The guard shifted uncomfortably and said timidly, "I cannot allow you passage, my lady. Gríma has ordered that you not be allowed to leave Edoras without the king's permission and someone to accompany you. It is for your own safety, he said, my lady."

Frustrated, she nearly tried to force the door, but instead turned and ran back to Meduseld, past the door wardens and through the back halls. She heard someone's footsteps behind her and increased her pace, but the person behind her sped up as well, and started gaining on her. _I wish to be alone! Why can I not even find solitude in my own home?_

She had just passed through the doors of the armory when she felt strong arms grab her from behind and slow her rapid movement. She looked and beheld Éomer's face, slightly flushed from exertion. 

"Éowyn, by the name of Eorl, what has happened? Who are you fleeing from?" he asked, puzzlement in his eyes. 

"No one, and everyone," she cried fiercely. "I want to be away from this stinking place, to go away forever and never return! But they hinder me, trap me and bind me until I am driven nearly mad by the stifling hopelessness of it!"

"I will not hear you slander our house in my presence," he said sternly, and then, his voice softening, asked, "Tell me, what has driven you to be so desperate?"

She answered softly without expression, "The realization that I can never escape from this place, that they will never let me leave. I will die here and never be allowed to prove my valour and defend our kingdom on the battlefield! I would not have my life wasted thusly!" She looked down, hopelessness rising over her.

Éomer said gently, putting a hand on her shoulder, "It is only that those who love you do not wish to see you hurt. We only seek to protect you from harm and keep you at home, as is fitting for a woman of your stature."

Éowyn pulled back, stung. _Such words, from you, dear brother? Not even you see that I can fight, that I need to ride with warriors?_ She pushed away from his comforting arms and scrambled backward, blindly seeking behind her back for a weapon. Her hand closed around the hilt of a sword, and she drew it up in front of her. 

"I challenge you to a fight, Éomer. Fight me, and we shall see what is _fitting_ for 'a woman of my stature'" He jumped back when she charged at him, and, a startled look on his face, scrabbled about for a sword to defend himself. He brought it up just in time to prevent her blade from crashing into his chest, and their swords clashed loudly. 

"Éowyn, what has possessed you?" he cried, moving his sword only enough to protect himself against her wild swings. 

"Nothing," she answered, "nothing but a sickness of unrest which will not let me be!" She grasped hold of the anger within herself a little, and slowed her attack, taking more time and skillfully darting in so that Éomer was sore pressed to block her strikes. 

"You do not understand," she said, gasping a little, for they were both breathing heavily. "You cannot understand, for you are free to ride away if you wish, and no one will trap you in menial tasks until the end of your days. How can you understand? And how dare you, any of you, tell me what I can and cannot do?" she asked furiously.

Éomer dared not respond, but put all of his energy into defending himself, quickly moving a leg around to trap her and hold her sword arm against him. He could feel her heart thudding frantically against his chest as she struggled in vain to break free. He looked down at her face, with mussed tendrils of hair against her forehead, pupils dilated from rage, cheeks flushed, and lips softly parted as she gasped for air. 

_She looks so beautiful…_he thought wistfully, admiring her flashing grey eyes and full pink lips. His face was inches away from hers, but she was not looking up, concentrating only on freeing herself. He moved slightly closer until they were almost touching. _She is mine…_he thought, bending in to kiss her sweet lips.

  
  


He jerked back before they touched, and pushed Éowyn violently away, clumsily stumbling towards the door. _What madness is this? What madness! _Revulsion and self-loathing filled him, and he turned and ran out of the armory, ran madly away from the sudden clarity that had come to him. He suddenly understood what had troubled him those years ago, what had been lurking in the depths of his mind ever since, the horror which he was a willing partner to. 

  


_I desire my own sister! I am a monster!_ He heard Éowyn calling after him as he reached the stables and dashed past the guard. Quickly he saddled and mounted his horse, riding swiftly to the wall which surrounded Edoras. 

He said the proper things which he did not hear to the guards, but, as he made to leave, heard Éowyn draw up behind him. He turned slowly, unwillingly, to meet her gaze.

"Éomer, what is this?" she cried, breathing heavily. "Where are you going?"

"Away," he muttered, guilt and remorse pricking at his heart. "I cannot stay here. I must leave."

She pleaded, "I am sorry for what I said, Éomer. Do not leave me! I could not bear it if you too should leave me alone! You are my support and my strength, Éomer. You cannot abandon me here in this cursed place!"

"Farewell, Éowyn. Forgive me." He did not meet her eyes, but spurred his horse and rode quickly away, without a backward glance. 

  
  


Éowyn sank to her knees, heedless of the guards around her. _I have driven him away. Now I am truly alone, truly alone in my cage._ Tears ran down her cheeks so that she did not see Gríma creeping up behind her, a smile touching his lips, until he laid a hand on her shoulder. She flinched away when she saw his face, and threatened, "Do not touch me, Wormtongue! I warn you, I will kill you if you lay a hand on me once more."

Gríma's smile did not fade. "Is that so, my lady? It seems your brother has departed rather abruptly. What a pity. I do not think he will be returning very soon, do you, my lady?"

Éowyn stared at him, comprehension dawning. _I am helpless against him. He controls Théoden, and he controls this whole kingdom…and he controls me._

Her eyes grew cold and hard as a winter frost, and Gríma shrank back a little, but relaxed when he saw the utter hopelessness in her face, the final despair in her gaze. _It is as my master planned,_ he thought, _or perhaps even better. Soon she will be mine, as will this whole kingdom. Soon…_

  


The sun was swallowed up by the horizon, and darkness fell over the kingdom of Rohan.

A/N: So…here it is. The big (and yet short) chapter, in which what this story has been building up to is revealed…to all save Éowyn. That will come later. 

I'm putting this up now, though I ought to be going to bed, because people tell me I do not update often enough. Imagine that! But I suspect many people will be angered by this chapter, because, despite the fact that I said it would be dark, and plenty of hints have been dropped in preceding chapters, they had no idea where this was heading. To those people: I am sorry, but at the same time I won't apologize for myself. I am writing this for me, not for you, and while I love my readers, I do not love them to the point where I would deviate from the plan I've laid out for this story. At least not significantly. 

Incest. It's an ugly word, and this was a hard chapter to write. Harder than I thought it would be. It was written rather quickly, yes, because I got inspired, but…it actually gave me a nightmare-literally. Some people may ask why I chose to write about such an ugly thing.

Yes, it's ugly, but so too is murder, so too is death, destruction, and nearly anything that makes for conflict and drama. If I'd wanted to write a happy story, I could have, but I don't think it would have challenged me as a writer, at least not in the way I want to challenge myself. It may not be uplifting to read-though you'll have to see in the end, and you might be surprised-but I try to make it, er, gripping. Interesting at least. Some great writers have tackled the subject, and written great things. I'm not trying to write a masterpiece, but I am trying to write things from a fresh angle.

I'm not advocating incest in any way, shape, or form, and no one here is a willing participant (some may protest that statement…you'll see). There will be no sex. I could not bring myself to write that even if I thought it was realistic for the characters and useful for the story, which I don't. So, sick people looking for that, look elsewhere. I am trying to write a serious incest story-not incest for the sake of it, but because I think it would advance Éowyn's character and the way she views things in interesting ways. I didn't want to write something everyone else already had-or, at least, I wanted to do something less common.

There may be a few who are shocked, and wondering why I didn't warn you from the beginning-but as I've said, incest isn't the raison d'ê tre of this story. I didn't want to automatically scare people off and make people think it'd be another sick and twisted PWP. I will probably put up a warning by the next chapter, but I didn't want to give away the "surprise". Just think how the characters are feeling.

Long Author's Note for a short chapter! To those of you who knew where it was heading, please do review and tell me what you thought, if you had the time. I don't have time this chapter to thank those who've reviewed-next chapter. 

Age note: I forgot to mention that Éowyn was about eighteen and a half in the last chapter, and obviously, almost twenty in this one. We're getting there-getting to the good stuff! See you (hopefully) soon!


End file.
